THE 


TTTrT/Yn  TiTTAT 

YICIORJAIIOI 

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EDWARD  •  CHILDS  •  CARPENTER; 


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"How  Is  THAT,  MONSIEUR?" 


THE 


A   Romance  of  Old   New  Orleans 


By 

EDWARD    CHILDS    CARPENTER 

Author  of  "  Captain  Courtesy,"  etc. 

Illustrations  by 

ELENORE    PLAISTED    ABBOTT 


PHILADELPHIA 

GEORGE  W.  JACOBS  &  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1907,  by 

GEORGE   W.   JACOBS    &    COMPANY 
Published  September,  1907. 


TO  THE  GIRL. 

WHOSE  NAME  SHOULD  BE  ON  THE  TITLE  PAGE  OP 

THIS  BOOK,  BUT  WHO  PREFERS  TO  HAVE  IT 

WRITTEN  WHERE  IT  IS   SAFER 

FROM  THE  CRITICS 


2134826 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  "THE  GATEWAY  OP  DREAMS" 1 

II  MADEMOISELLE  OF  THE  MAGNOLIAS...  29 

III  IN  THE  ATELIER  JALLOT 39 

IV  JALLOT  OVERHEARS  AN  INTRIGUE  AND 

THINKS   OP  A  RHYME 53 

V     A  GENTLEMAN  IN  MOTLEY 58 

VI     SPRING— THE  INSURGENT! 68 

VII  DEBTS  HAVE  LONG  MEMORIES 77 

VIII  "AN    EXCELLENT    SHOP   IN    WHICH    TO 

GET  YOUR  THROAT  CUT" 84 

IX     A  PETTICOAT  AND  A  CONSPIRACY 91 

X  JALLOT  IS  CALLED  "PAPOUTE" 106 

XI  THE   COMPLAINT   OP   MONSIEUR   GAZO- 

NAC    116 

XII     THE  MALICE  OF  HIS  ENEMY 125 

XIII  AN  EDITOR  WITH  A  SENSE  OF  HUMOR. .  140 

XIV  A   LOTTERY,    A   LOVE   AFFAIR   AND   AN 

INVITATION    148 

XV    THE  VEILED  FACE  OF  MYSTERY 164 

XVI     IT  IS  EASIER  TO  FLY  THAN  TO  FIGHT.. .  170 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XVII     SOLD  TO  THE  HIGHEST  BIDDER 174 

XVIII     HOPE  HOLDS  COUNCIL  WITH  DESPAIR. .  199 
XIX     THE   FIREFLY   MAKES   LIGHT  FOR   HIS 

OWN  SOUL 207 

XX    THE  FOLLY  OF  BEING  IMPETUOUS 222 

XXI     THE  BEST  OF  THE  SPOIL.. 234 

XXII     VIOLET  DOMINOES 240 

XXIII  MASQUES,     MOONLIGHT      AND      MALIG- 

NITY      248 

XXIV  NIGHT  AND  THE  SHARD  IN  A  WOMAN'S 

SOUL 264 

XXV     THE  HEART  OF  THE  YELLOW  KITTEN. .  270 

XXVI  A  CRESCENDO  OF  HYSTERIA 279 

XXVII  ONE  MAN  AGAINST  A  HUNDRED 290 

XXVIII  THE  BARRIER  OF  CAST 301 

XXIX     THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 309 

XXX    THEY  AND  THE  NIGHT. .  319 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"HOW  IS  THAT,  MONSIEUR?" Frontispiece 

"I  HAVE  BOUGHT  THE  WOMAN  I 

LOVE"  Facing  Page  196 

"LET  US  WEAR  OUR  HEARTS  ON  OUR 

SLEEVES"  "  242 

"YOU  CARED  ENOUGH  TO  COME  AT 

NIGHT— ALONE?"  "  284 

"I  BESTOW  UPON  THEE  THE  NOBLEST 

AND  OLDEST  ORDER"  .    "  334 


The  Code  of  Victor  Jallot 

CHAPTER  I 

"THE  GATEWAY  OP  DREAMS" 

On  the  night  of  December  13,  1803,  l°ng  Pro~ 
cessions  of  lantern-lights,  twinkling  like  myriads 
of  fireflies,  fluttered  through  the  dark  streets  of 
New  Orleans  and  swarmed  about  the  arched  en- 
trance of  the  little  French  theatre  in  the  Rue  St.. 
Pierre.  From  every  quarter  of  the  city  these 
nodding  lights  came  slowly  on  in  single  file,  for 
the  slaves  who  carried  them  were  guiding  masters 
and  mistresses  across  treacherous  stepping-stones 
and  along  narrow  banquettes.  Time  and  again  the 
cavalcades  halted,  signalling  and  clustering,  close 
upon  some  place  where  the  mire  oozed  deeply 
over  the  foot-bank,  which  was  often  nothing  more 
than  a  log,  or  the  gunwale  of  a  broken  flatboat  laid 
lengthwise  in  the  mud.  Then  madam,  if  her 
escort  were  too  old  to  render  assistance,  lifted 
her  silken  skirts  just  so  much  higher  and,  with 
the  innocent  oath,  "Coton  mai!"  pressed  on  as 
best  she  could;  but  if  her  beau  were  young  and 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

strong,  my  lady  surrendered  herself  gratefully  to 
his  arms  for  the  portage. 

For  the  most  part,  the  hazards  of  the  banquettes 
were  met  with  good  humor  or  resignation,  since 
the  people  of  this  little  Paris,  reared  in  the 
American  wilderness,  were  long  used  to  streets 
so  impassable  with  mud  that  vehicles  were  almost 
out  of  fashion.  Laughter  and  applause  were  often 
the  reward  of  some  agile  gentleman,  who,  under 
the  burden  of  a  stout  and  decorous  lady,  leaped 
the  mire  without  suffering  so  much  as  a  spatter 
on  his  hose. 

"Bis!  Bis!  Encore!"  they  would  cry  to  the  ac- 
companiment of  hand-claps  and  the  bobbing  of 
lanterns;  and  he  who  had  so  gallantly  taken  the 
leap  would,  like  as  not,  turn  back  and  gaily  chal- 
lenge those  who  followed  to  better  his  perfor- 
mance. 

"Ma  foi!"  exclaimed  an  old  Frenchman,  as  he 
sounded  the  depth  of  the  slough  with  his  long 
ebony  cane,  "I  should  not  object  to  walking  knee 
deep  in  the  muck  to  hear  an  opera;  but,  del,  I 
dislike  soiling  even  a  boot-heel  for  the  sake  of 
seeing  a  play  written  by  a  barber !" 

"Gaspard !"  protested  his  wife.  "This  Monsieur 
Jallot  is  much  more  than  a  barber — he  is  a  poet." 

"Cherie,  I  shall  forgive  him  that,  too,  if  he  can 
make  me  smile;  but  I  dare  him  to  make  me  laugh. 
Here!  Take  my  hand,  Felicie!" 


So  they  went  on,  choosing  their  footing  daint- 

fly. 

Another  party,  under  the  convoy  of  a  colored 
bonne,  who  held  her  lantern  high  and  walked  like 
a  grenadier,  turned  the  corner  of  the  Rue  Bour- 
bon and  paused  before  a  wide  gap  in  the  stepping- 
stones. 

"Dese  ve'y  bad  place,  Missou,"  exclaimed  the 
slave,  turning  back  to  address  an  elderly  German, 
over  whose  shoulder  loomed  the  face  of  a 
young  woman.  The  meagre  lantern  rays  gently 
touched  her  features,  which  seemed  to  glow  as 
though  she,  herself,  had  a  light  within.  This 
irradiation  did  not  come  from  her  eyes — the  long 
sweep  of  her  lashes  veiled  them — but  rather  from 
her  countenance,  which  bore  a  faint  smile,  the 
creation  of  a  wondrous  mouth  as  scarlet  as  a 
poppy.  Its  brilliance  emphasized  the  paleness  of 
her  skin  and  the  sombreness  of  her  dark  hair.  A 
scarf  of  old  rose,  fastened  under  her  patrician  chin, 
gave  her  face  the  appearance  of  some  exquisite 
tropical  flower. 

"I  shall  make  of  me  a  conveyance  for  you, 
Antoinette,"  said  the  German. 

His  words  brought  forth  a  babble  of  protests 
from  a  group  of  beaux,  who  crowded  the  foot- 
way at  the  skirts  of  the  young  woman. 

"Permit  me  to  carry  Mademoiselle!"  entreated 
one. 

"Let  that  be  my  privilege,"  begged  another. 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

"No,  no,  Monsieur,  I  claim  that  honor!"  in- 
sisted a  third. 

In  their  eagerness  to  wait  upon  the  girl,  they 
all  but  jostled  her  into  the  mire.  She  gave  a 
little  cry  and  laughingly  caught  at  the  nearest 
arm,  which  proved  to  be  that  of  the  old  German. 

"I  propose  to  carry  Antoinette  myself  across 
the  mud,"  he  announced,  promptly  gathering- 
up  his  charge  and  depositing  her  with  a  grunt  of 
satisfaction  on  the  dry  banquette. 

"Bravo,  bravo,  bravo,  Monsieur  Froebel !"  cho- 
rused the  young  men. 

"Now  let  us  hurry,"  said  Antoinette.  "We 
shall  be  late  for  the  play." 

"Better  late  than  early — in  this  case,"  returned 
one,  who  kept  close  at  her  heels. 

"Hah,  jealous  are  you  of  mine  friend,  Jallot," 
exclaimed  the  German,  prodding  the  lantern- 
bearer  with  his  stick. 

"Jealous  of  a  barber?  Not  I.  I  am  only 
envious  of  you,  Monsieur  Froebel,  because  Made- 
moiselle trusts  herself  to  you  at  the  crossings." 

"Monsieur  Gazonac,"  laughed  Antoinette,  "this 
• — eh — tonsor,  what  is  his  name?" 

"Jallot!"  volunteered  one. 

"Jallot,"  she  continued,  "is  not  a  barber  to- 
night— he  is  a  playwright !" 

"He  is  many  more  things  than  that  besides," 
put  in  the  German. 

"He  is  a  universal  genius,"  jeered  the  last  of 

4 


"THE  GATEWAY  OF  DREAMS" 

the  party,  crowding  up  to  the  others.  "On  Mon- 
day he  is  a  poet;  on  Tuesday,  a  fencing  master;  on 
Wednesday,  a  physician;  on  Thursday,  a  presti- 
digitator; on  Friday,  a  dancing  master;  on  Satur- 
day, a  critic;  on  Sunday,  a  beau!" 

"And  every  day,  a  barber  ?"  added  Gazonac  per- 
sistently. 

"And  every  night?"  queried  Antoinette. 

"The  devil  knows  what!" 

"Then  I  must  the  devil  be,"  rejoined  the  Ger- 
man with  some  heat.  "Jallot  a  philanthropist  is, 
something  none  of  you  know  anything  about." 

By  this  time  they  were  close  to  the  Theatre 
Saint  Pierre  where  the  banquette  widened,  and  a 
handshaking,  chattering  throng  was  assembling 
under  the  flare  of  fire-pots.  It  was  an  animated, 
informal  levee,  within  a  huge  circle  of  light  flung 
wide  from  the  white  facade  of  the  theatre,  and 
rendering  black  the  velvet  night  about,  save  where 
the  processions  of  on-coming  lanterns  spangled 
the  dark. 

A  man,  in  the  dingy  olive  livery  of  the  theatre, 
appeared  between  the  arches  of  the  gallery,  which 
overhung  the  entrance,  and  lustily  rang  a  huge 
bell.  Instantly  there  was  a  swirl  of  bell-crowned 
beavers,  chapeaux  and  graceful  veils  undulating 
up  the  steps  and  through  the  arcade  of  the  little 
playhouse,  while  far  to  right  and  left  on  the  Rue 
Saint  Pierre  danced  the  hurrying  lanterns. 

Well  might  they  hasten,  for  already  the  colored 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

orchestra  was  playing  the  overture.  From  their 
station  on  one  side  of  the  gallery  and  close  to  the 
proscenium  arch,  the  musicians  looked  down  upon 
the  noblesse  of  New  Orleans:  French,  Spaniards, 
Germans,  but  most  of  all  the  Creoles,  that 
proud  Caucasian  race,  born  in  Louisiana  of  Euro- 
pean ancestors.  Their  women  were  lovely  as 
white  roses,  with  ivory  cheeks  almost  impercep- 
tibly touched  with  color;  eyes  and  hair  as  dark  as 
midnight;  graceful  and  generous,  simple  and 
charming.  Their  men  were  gay,  impetuous,  sud- 
den in  quarrels  and  as  quick  to  patch  them;  hand- 
some and  irresponsible.  For  the  most  part  of 
Gallic  blood,  they  spoke  French,  which  was  then 
the  current  speech  of  Louisiana,  and  jealously 
maintained  the  supremacy  of  their  tongue  against 
the  invasion  of  all  others,  particularly  English,  a 
language  they  held  as  barbarous. 

The  Creoles  naturally  became  the  head  and 
front  of  the  noblesse  of  New  Orleans,  and  to  their 
exclusive  circle  only  the  gentility  of  the  old  world 
gained  admittance.  With  the  transfer  of  Louis- 
iana to  Spain  came  the  infusion  of  Castilian  blood, 
so  that  the  Creole  often  revealed  in  fascinating 
blend  the  vivacious  brilliancy  of  the  French  and 
the  langourous  seductiveness  of  the  Spanish.  The 
Germans,  too,  but  in  less  degree,  added  another 
tinge  to  the  Creole  strain. 

And  now,  on  the  eve  of  that  day  when  France, 
so  shortly  repossessed  of  Louisiana  must  fulfill 

6 


"THE  GATEWAY  OF  DREAMS" 

her  bargain  and  surrender  her  colony  to  the 
United  States,  only  the  American  knocked  in  vain 
at  the  door  of  the  Creole  heart.  He  was  a 
stranger,  an  intruder,  a  barbarian;  and  although 
he  had  come  to  stay  he  could  have  no  fellowship 
with  those  who  ruled  the  social  state. 

So,  among  the  audience  in  the  Theatre  Saint 
Pierre  that  night,  the  American  who  ventured 
there,  found  himself  in  hostile  company.  Women 
pressed  airily  by  him  with  skirts  held  close,  as 
though  they  feared  contagion  from  his  touch;  men 
turned  their  backs  or  scowled  openly  upon  him, 
and  it  mattered  not  whether  the  stranger  wore 
duffle  or  deerskin,  the  scorn  for  him  was  impartial. 
In  all  that  playhouse  he  met  no  friendly  glance, 
save  from  his  isolated  countrymen;  and  though 
he  might  endure  the  despisal  of  the  Creole  men 
as  he  would  a  scratch,  the  disdain  of  the  women, 
striking  at  his  vanity,  surely  held  a  deeper  hurt. 

With  what  a  sigh  then  he  must  have  looked  over 
that  brave  assembly :  The  women  were  tricked  out 
in  Paris  fashions  of  the  previous  year — high  waists, 
bound  beneath  their  busts  with  ribboned  sashes; 
soft  clinging  skirts,  suggesting,  rather  than  re- 
vealing, the  lovely  lines  of  their  figures;  scarfs  and 
veils  in  delicate  shades,  thrown  back  from  their 
heads,  and  half  disclosing,  half  concealing  the  ivory 
sheen  of  arms  and  shoulders.  The  men  were  ca- 
parisoned more  soberly  in  tail  coats,  some  light 
and  some  dark,  buttoned  closely  across  their 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

chests  and  showing  at  the  waist  a  bit  of  gay  vest- 
ing; nankeen  or  satin  knee-breeches,  silken  hose, 
pumps  and  high  white  stocks  of  fine  linen  com- 
pleted costumes  which  were  nothing  if  not  dis- 
tinguished. 

Under  the  soft  play  of  yellow  lights,  cast  from 
lantern  and  candelabrum,  this  assembly  of  quaint 
and  vari-colored  trappings,  bloomed,  as  it  were, 
with  all  the  enchantment  of  a  tapestried  garden, 
while  the  fluttering  fans  suggested  countless  but- 
terflies swarming  over  a  flower-bed.  To  com- 
plete this  charming  illusion,  there  was  a  steady 
hum  of  conversation,  like  the  buzz  of  bees'  wings, 
which  overcame,  at  times,  even  the  strident  notes 
of  the  violins. 

This  hum  wedded  to  music  penetrated  the 
stage  curtain  and  fell  upon  the  ears  of  a  man  who 
stood  in  the  shadow  of  a  heap  of  battered  scenery 
close  to  the  green-room  door.  There  was  some- 
thing hypnotic  to  him  in  that  drone  of  voices  and 
violins  as  he  followed  with  apprehensive  eyes  the 
setting  of  the  stage.  The  medley  of  murmurs  and 
music  struck  him  to  the  soul,  awakening  strange 
and  conflicting  emotions.  He  was  at  once  in- 
spired and  depressed,  intoxicated  and  panic- 
stricken;  but  the  dominant  undertone  of  his  feel- 
ings was  apprehension.  He  was  the  author  of  the 
play,  which  in  a  few  minutes  would  be  summoned 
for  trial  before  that  sinister  jury — a  first  night 
audience. 

8 


"THE  GATEWAY  OF  DREAMS" 

He  wished  himself  a  thousand  miles  away,  yet 
he  could  not  find  the  will  to  move.  His  mind, 
like  the  stage  before  him,  was  chaos;  and  that  com- 
parison occurred  to  him  as  he  watched  the  scurry- 
ing hands  dragging  from  dusty  corners  the  pa- 
thetic-looking furniture  and  shabby  properties  for 
a  boudoir  setting,  and  heaping  them  in  confusion 
before  the  tattered  battlements  of  a  castle.  A 
quartette  of  coatless  fiends  hurtled  by  him  with 
a  ragged  dais,  and  across  the  stage  another  group 
pushed  on  a  ridiculous  forest.  They  seemed  to 
toil  in  a  mad,  reckless,  disordered  fashion,  disap- 
pearing and  reappearing  within  a  wide  circle  of 
light,  like  genii  with  their  loads,  apparently  paying 
no  heed  to  the  stage-manager,  who,  madder  than 
they,  ran  hither  and  thither  shouting  and  gesticu- 
lating. 

The  air  was  thick  with  dust  and  heavy  with 
a  musty  odor,  which  blended  strangely  with  the. 
pungent  smell  of  pigments  used  by  the  actors  in 
their  make-up. 

From  his  shadowy  post  the  author  had  but  to 
turn  his  head  to  look  into  the  green-room,  where 
the  cast  was  assembling,  and  he  sighed  deeply 
and  smiled  ruefully,  thinking  how  much  the  suc- 
cess of  his  play  depended  upon  these  people  over 
whom  he  had  no  control. 

"  Rouquette,  the  jeune  premier,  was  nervously 
pacing  the  worn  floor  and  frequently  pausing  t<~> 
look  at  himself  in  one  of  the  rmrjrors,  which  were 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

set  at  intervals  about  the  cracked  plastered  walls 
of  that  low-ceilinged  room,  where  testimony  of 
past  performers  and  plays  was  displayed  in  yellow 
bills  and  faded  etchings. 

"Such  verse!"  exclaimed  Rouquette,  petulantly, 
addressing  himself  to  no  one  in  particular;  "the 
lines  keep  popping  out  of  my  head  as  fast  as  I 
memorize  them." 

Mademoiselle  Remy,  the  jeune  premiere,  shifted 
her  glance  from  the  mirror  in  which  she  was 
studying  the  effect  of  a  rose  in  her  corsage,  and 
turned  belligerently  upon  the  speaker:  "There  is 
nothing  the  matter  with  the  lines — it  is  you 
who  do  not  understand  them." 

"Understand  them ?"  Rouquette  laughed.  "No! 
Who  could  ?  There's  no  sense  to  them !" 

"Certainly  not  as  you  read  them !" 

The  author,  overhearing  this,  smiled  and 
thanked  the  actress  in  his  heart. 

"I  suppose  you  could  read  them  better?"  re- 
torted the  actor  with  a  sneer. 

"I  am  not  so  vain  as  to  think  that,  but  I  am 
sure  Monsieur  Jallot  could,"  replied  Mademoiselle 
Remy,  wheeling  about  to  the  glass  again  and  at- 
tacking her  nose  with  a  powder-puff. 

"Parblcu,  I  wish  the  author  were  playing  this 
stupid  part  himself." 

"So  do  I!"  She  clasped  her  hands  ecstatically; 
and  the  playwright,  watching  her  through  the 
door,  decided  that  she  was  charming. 

10 


"THE  GATEWAY  OF  DREAMS" 

Just  then  Mademoiselle  Sejour,  the  soubrette  of 
the  company,  came  into  the  green-room  and  re- 
marked, poising  a  hare's-foot  impudently :  "The 
title  of  the  thing — 'The  Gateway  of  Dreams' — is 
silly  enough  to  keep  people  away  from  the  thea- 
tre." 

"La,  la,  la,"  gibed  Mademoiselle  Remy,  daintily 
touching  her  charming  coiffure  with  the  ends  of 
her  fingers,  "the  whole  of  New  Orleans  is  in 
front !" 

"Mere  curiosity — to  see  what  sort  of  trash  a 
barber  can  write,"  snapped  Rouquette.  "When  I 
think  of  the  great  parts  I  have  played  in " 

"Shut  up!"  interrupted  the  comedian,  pulling 
his  wig  down  over  his  forehead,  and  scowling  in 
what  he  thought  was  a  humorous  fashion;  "the 
people  come  to  'La  Comedie'  to-night  just  as  they 
go  to  a  bull  fight — for  the  joy  of  the 
slaughter." 

"What  a  splendid  toreador  you  will  make, 
Barde !  You  deliver  a  line — and  the  play  falls 
dead !"  The  leading  lady  effectually  silenced  the 
comedian  with  this  counter  and  went  to  the  relief 
of  the  heavy  man,  who  was  struggling  with  his 
sword  knot.  "What  do  you  think  of  the  new 
piece,  Liotau?"  she  inquired,  deftly  arranging  the 
ribbon. 

"An  actor's  opinion  is  worth  very  little  in  such 
matters,  Mademoiselle,"  he  rejoined;  "but,  since 

II 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

you  ask  me,  I  think  Jallot's  comedy  will  be  a 
great — failure." 

Mademoiselle  Remy  started  back  with  an  ex- 
clamation of  chagrin,  and  the  author  himself  felt 
crushed,  for  Liotau  was  an  artist  and  an  actor  of 
long  experience. 

"Hah!"  plagued  the  ingenue,  snapping  her 
fingers  at  the  jeune  premiere,  "you  hear  that !  I 
told  Monsieur  Courmont  that  he  was  mad  to  put 
on  a  play  by  a  barber!" 

"Pardon,"  jeered  the  leading  man;  "Jallot  is  a 
tonsorial  artist!" 

"Oh,  the  airs  he  gives  himself,"  ejaculated 
Barde  with  a  smirk.  "You  might  think  he  was 
Voltaire." 

"We  never  should  have  had  to  play  his  wretched 
piece,"  scolded  Rouquette;  "had  it  not  been  for 
that  doddering  old  Trudeau,  who  professes  to 
have  found  a  genius  in  Jallot.  If  the  truth  were 
known  he  secures  the  production  of  the  barber's 
play  in  payment  for  his  daughter's  fencing  les- 
sons." 

"You  are  mistaken,  Monsieur!"  At  these 
words,  pronounced  with  quiet  emphasis,  the 
players  looked  with  surprise  toward  the  door. 
There  stood  a  man  who  promised  to  carry  a 
debonair  spirit,  and  all  the  splendor  of  youth, 
into  his  approaching  prime.  He  was  tall  and 
lithe,  though  strong,  and  wore  with  distinction  an 
irreproachable  costume  fashioned  after  the  latest 

12 


French  mode.  His  dark  brown  hair  was  brushed 
back  from  a  broad  and  tranquil  brow,  beneath 
which  gray  eyes,  full  of  life  and  light,  looked  out 
intrepidly.  A  delicate  nose  with  sensitive  nostrils; 
firm  lips,  half-parted  in  a  smile  and  showing 
his  white  teeth,  indicated  a  noble  and  tempera- 
mental nature.  One  of  his  fine  hands  held  a  bell- 
crowned  beaver,  and  the  other  a  sword-cane. 

His  unexpected  appearance  brought  a  look  of 
apprehension  to  the  face  of  Rouquette,  and  Made- 
moiselle Remy  gasped,  "Monsieur  Jallot!" 

He  acknowledged  her  surprised  salutation  with 
a  bow,  and  addressed  himself  to  the  company: 
"Mesdames  and  Messieurs,  quite  by  accident  I 
overheard  something  of  your  conversation.  I  care 
nothing  about  your  opinion  of  my  play — the 
audience  will  pass  upon  it  finally  to-night — but  I 
must  challenge  the  imputation  made  against  Mon- 
sieur Trudeau.  The  gentleman  who  uttered  the 
unhandsome  remarks  to  which  I  refer,  no  doubt 
spoke  thoughtlessly  and  will  therefore  be  glad  of 
this  chance  to  correct  himself." 

The  eyes  of  everyone  in  the  room  rested  upon 
Rouquette,  who  felt  himself  growing  exceedingly 
warm.  His  impulse  was  to  strike  Jallot,  but  he 
remained  calm  enough  to  remember  the  poet's 
reputation  as  a  swordsman,  and  accordingly  swal- 
lowed his  wrath  without  digesting  it  and  mumbled 
an  apology. 

"First  act !"  called  the  prompter,  and  Rouquette, 

13 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

Mademoiselle  Sejour,  Barde  and  Liotau,  who 
opened  the  play,  brushed  hurriedly  past  Jallot  and 
took  their  places  on  the  stage. 

The  author  looked  after  them  with  a  sigh  and 
started  nervously  as  three  loud  raps  of  a  mallet, 
echoing  through  the  playhouse,  signalled  the  rise 
of  the  curtain. 

He  made  a  move  to  go,  when  a  light  touch  fell 
upon  his  arm.  Turning,  he  looked  into  the  sym- 
pathetic eyes  of  the  leading  lady.  "Mademoiselle 
Remy?"  he  questioned,  taking  her  hand. 

"You  must  not  mind  what  they  say,  Monsieur. 
It  is  a  beautiful  play.  It  must  succeed.  I  feel  it !" 

He  smiled  at  her  in  gratitude.  "Since  you  have 
faith,  I  shall  be  hopeful.  At  least  I  know  that  one 
part — the  most  important  of  all — will  be  played 
ideally,  Mademoiselle." 

She  too  was  smiling  now.  "Wish  me  good 
luck,  Monsieur,  as  I  wish  you!"  She  gave  him 
her  hand  again  with  a  pretty  air  of  camaraderie. 

"Good  luck,  Mademoiselle,  and  bless  you."  He 
raised  the  tips  of  her  fingers  to  his  lips. 

"There's  my  cue!"  With  that  she  started  for 
the  wings,  daintily  blowing  him  a  kiss  as  she  disap- 
peared. 

Jallot  stood  for  a  moment  listening  to  the  voices 
of  the  players,  then  picked  up  his  surtout  and  tip- 
toed out  through  the  stage  door.  Choosing  his 
way  carefully  along  the  dark  banquette,  he  pres- 
ently came  to  the  deserted  Rue  St.  Pierre, 

14 


"THE  GATEWAY  OF  DREAMS" 

where  he  paused  undecidedly  for  a  moment,  but 
at  last  yielded  to  an  impulse  and  entered  the  thea- 
tre. Stationing  himself  at  the  very  back  of  the 
auditorium,  he  watched  the  progress  of  the  act, 
while  hope  and  despair  in  turn  wrung  his  heart 
and  mind  with  exquisite  torture.  He  mentally 
cursed  Rouquette  for  the  stupid  way  he  read  the 
verse,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  none  of  the  actors, 
save  Mademoiselle  Remy  and  Liotau,  cared  about 
or  understood  the  significance  of  the  scene. 

"Cochon!  Fathead!  He  doesn't  even  know  his 
lines,  much  less  how  to  act,"  fumed  the  author. 
"I  should  like  to  kill  him  ....  Ah,  if  you  had  but 
a  pinch  of  her  art  in  your  imbecile  makeup !" 

Mademoiselle  Remy,  struggling  under  the  bur- 
den of  the  entire  scene,  carried  it  off  with  spirit, 
and  on  her  exit  the  audience  for  the  first  time 
vouchsafed  their  applause.  This  trifling  encour- 
agement, however,  was  soon  forgotten,  for  Lio- 
tan,  left  to  finish  the  act  with  Rouquette — 
who  gave  him  no  support  and  accepted  none — be- 
came discouraged  and,  as  the  jeune  premier 
stumbled  in  his  lines,  the  heavy  man  faltered  and 
the  curtain  fell  to  the  accompaniment  of  jeers  and 
a  few  feeble  handclaps. 

Courmont,  the  manager  of  the  theatre,  saw 
Jallot  leaning  against  the  wall  and  approached 
him.  "Monsieur,"  he  began,  "I  do  not  think  your 
play  is  going  to  be  the  success  we  hoped." 

"Certainly   not!"    exclaimed    the    author    with 

15 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

some  warmth;  "when  you  employ  such  stupid 
players." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  Mademoiselle 
Remy—  ?" 

"Ah,  she  is  intelligent,  charming — even  distin- 
guished; but  one  artist,  Monsieur,  does  not  make 
a  company." 

"Bah!"  sneered  Courmont;  "that's  what  every 
scribbler  says  when  he  has  a  failure.  You  are 
very  lucky  to  have  your  comedy  played  at  all !" 

"Played? — did  you  say?  I  should  call  it 
butchered !"  Jallot  turned  on  his  heel  and  made 
his  way  to  the  lobby,  now  thronged  with  prome- 
naders.  Heads  turned  to  look  after  him  as  he 
passed  to  the  entrance  where  he  was  challenged 
by  a  tall,  broad-shouldered  American,  who  wrung 
his  hand  and  said  something  that  made  him  smile. 

"Antoinette !  Look  !  That  Jallot  is !"  exclaimed 
the  old  German,  Ludwig  Froebel,  pulling  at  the 
long  stole  which  hung  from  the  girl's  girdle. 

"What  interest  can  Mademoiselle  have  in  a 
barber?"  questioned  a  Frenchman. 

"Monsieur  Gazonac,  I  have  no  interest,  but  I 
confess  to  a  certain  curiosity,"  rejoined  Antoin- 
ette. "Show  him  to  me!" 

"You  may  see  the  best  of  him — his  back,"  jeered 
Gazonac.  "There — by  the  portiere — talking  to 
that  outrageous  American." 

"Oh,  what  a  handsome  back — for  a  barber!  Does 
he  dress  your  hair  as  poorly  as  he  writes  plays?" 

16 


"THE  GATEWAY  OF  DREAMS" 

"No,  Mademoiselle,  he  is  really  an  admirable 
barber." 

"Then  he  should  stick  to  his — eh — curling- 
irons!" 

"But  this  his  first  play  is,"  expostulated  the 
German.  "He  can  do  as  better  than  this  on  an- 
other time." 

"He  couldn't  do  worse,"  tittered  the  French- 
man. 

"Oh,  you  are  not  fair,  Monsieur,"  protested 
Antoinette:  "I  shall  reserve  my  criticism  until 
we  have  seen  the  last  act." 

"Morbleu!  And  there  are  two  to  come!" 
sighed  Gazonac,  following  the  girl  into  the  audi- 
torium. 

Many  such  fragments  of  conversation  floated  to 
the  ears  of  Jallot,  who  would  have  fled  if  the 
American  had  not  stopped  him,  and  assured  him, 
with  a  laugh,  that  it  was  an  excellent  thing  for  an 
author  to  hear  the  truth  unvarnished. 

"My  dear  Osbourne,"  complained  Jallot  with  a 
wry  smile,  "I  am  already  quite  aware  that 
everyone  considers  that  I  have  committed  a 
crime  in  writing  the  play;  but  I  am  like  a  mother 
with  her  child — I  may  say  hard  things  about  it 
myself,  yet  I  cannot  endure  hearing  others  scold 
it.  I've  heard  enough  for  one  night !  Let  me 
go,  or  I  shall  be  boxing  the  ears  of  some  of  my 
critics." 

The  American  laughed  again  and  held  him  fast 

17 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT. 

by  the  shoulders.  "I  swear,  Jallot,  the  play  is 
not  half  bad." 

The  other  cocked  up  one  eyebrow,  in  mock 
surprise,  and  exclaimed,  "Impossible !"  Then,  after 
an  instant's  reflection,  he  added,  "I  overheard  a 
crocodile  in  skirts  make  the  same  remark  be- 
tween a  pinch  of  snuff  and  a  sneeze;  and  I  had  a 
notion  to  retort  that  if  she  possessed  the  least 
spark  of  wit  she  must  have  observed  that  the  half 
bad  part  was  the  company." 

"Let  me  hasten  to  say  that  I  had  observed  as 
much  myself,  Jallot." 

"Thank  you,  Monsieur,"  retorted  his  com- 
panion with  drollery;  "I  am  extremely  grateful  to 
find  among  all  the  audience  one  discriminating 
soul." 

"Then  you  confess  that  an  American  may  pos- 
sess taste?" 

Jallot,  benevolently  smiling,  rejoined,  "Yes, 
when,  like  you,  he  not  only  speaks  but  thinks  in 
French." 

Osbourne  beamed  at  this,  for  he  was  proud  of 
his  linguistic  accomplishments,  and,  linking  his 
arm  through  that  of  the  author,  drew  him  toward 
the  auditorium. 

"Wait  a  moment,"  insisted  Jallot.  "Listen  to 
this." 

They  were  within  ear-shot  of  a  group  of 
Creoles,  who  were  carrying  on  an  animated  dis- 

18 


"THE  GATEWAY  OF  DREAMS" 

cussion.  Said  one,  "How  impertinent  of  a  barber 
to  write  a  play!" 

"Pardon  me,  Mademoiselle,"  returned  another; 
"the  impertinence  is  not  in  writing  a  play,  but  in 
writing  a  poor  one." 

"Suppose  it  had  been  a  masterpiece?"  ques- 
tioned a  third. 

"That,"  contended  the  first  speaker,  "would 
have  been  a  still  greater  piece  of  audacity." 

"Then  you  think  that  destiny  has  no  right  to 
bestow  talent  upon  any  save  the  noblesse,  Made- 
moiselle ?" 

"The  arts  themselves,  being  the  height  of  refine- 
ment, should  only  be  entrusted  to  the  hands  of  the 
noblesse.  You  see  to-night  the  result  of  their 
gross  employment!" 

"Mademoiselle,  I  find  nothing  gross  in  this 
comedy  of  Jallot's,  though  I  confess  that  so  far 
it  seems  to  lack  that  dramatic  quality  which  makes 
for  success.  I  fancy  if  you  were  to  read  it  you 
would  discover  many  inspired  lines." 

"My  brother  assures  me  that  this  barber  is  quite 
an  estimable  person,"  put  in  a  French  woman. 

"It  is  strange  then  that  he  does  not  invite  the 
prodigy  to  dine." 

"Which  is  precisely  what  he  did;  but,  to  my 
mother's  relief,  Monsieur  Jallot  declined  in  the 
most  charming  note  imaginable;  and  the  result 
was  that  my  brother  dined  with  him." 

"I  should  as  soon  thinlc  of  accepting  the  hos- 

19 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

pitality  of  an  American." 

"Sufficient  for  me,"  gasped  Osbourne,  and,  as 
the  signal  was  sounding  for  the  rise  of  the  curtain, 
he  hurried  Jallot  to  a  seat  in  the  rear  of  the  the- 
atre and  placed  himself  at  the  author's  side. 

It  became  clear  to  Jallot,  from  the  beginning 
of  the  second  act,  that  Rouquette  was  playing  his 
role  with  determined  perversion,  so  that  all  the 
admirable  art  of  Mademoiselle  Remy  and  Liotau 
went  for  nothing;  the  climax  of  the  scene  was 
blurred,  and  play  and  players  seemed  hopelessly 
lost  in  a  fog  of  their  own  making. 

As  the  dramatist,  thoroughly  disgusted,  sank 
back  in  his  chair  with  a  smothered  oath,  Osbourne 
laid  a  hand  on  his  arm.  "Take  heart,"  he  said,  "it 
might  be  much  worse." 

Jallot  feebly  smiled  his  gratitude.  "That's  com- 
forting! I  thought  it  could  not  be  worse." 

"Indeed,  it  could  be.  Every  one  isn't  leaving 
the  theatre.  You  will  see,  when  they  return 
from  the  foyer,  that  at  least  half  of  your  audience 
is  faithful." 

"Faithful?  Oh,  no!  Curious,  perhaps;  or 
worse  yet — ghoulish.  Besides,  this  thing  has  be- 
come amusing.  They  stay  to  laugh  at  me,  not 
with  me." 

"Monsieur  Jallot!" 

At  the  sound  of  his  name,  the  author  rose  has- 
tily to  accept  a  hand  extended  to  him  with  an  en- 
thusiastic greeting.  The  possessor  of  that  hand 

20 


"THE  GATEWAY  OF  DREAMS" 

was  Ottilie  Trudeau,  daughter  of  the  managing 
director  of  the  theatre,  who  stood  immediately 
behind  her. 

Ottilie  was  undergoing  that  subtle  and  lovely 
transition  from  girlhood  to  womanhood.  This 
change  brought  with  it  an  air  of  coquetry,  an  en- 
chanting dowry  of  healthy  spirits,  which  sug- 
gested the  flirt  but  never  the  jilt.  Although  she 
was  not  small,  she  was  dainty,  and  the  soft,  full 
curves  of  her  figure  were  all  in  lines  of  prettiness. 
A  piquante  face,  rather  highly  colored  for  a  Cre- 
ole, radiated  happiness,  and  her  smile  possessed 
the  charm  of  a  child's.  She  wore  a  fastidiously 
made  dress  of  pink  flowered  silk,  trimmed  with 
lace,  which  made  her  look  like  a  Parisian — all  that 
an  indulgent  parent  demanded  of  her. 

"Monsieur,"  she  was  saying  to  Jallot,  "your 
play  is  fascinating." 

Osbourne,  discreetly  standing  aside,  gazed 
down  upon  her,  conscious  of  a  pleasant  glow 
about  his  heart. 

"A  magnificent  fabrication,  Mademoiselle,  for 
which  I  thank  you,"  smiled  Jallot;  and  in  a  whis- 
per, added :  "May  I  have  the  honor  of  presenting 
to  you  Monsieur  Osbourne,  a  man  worthy  of  even 
your  acquaintance?" 

Ottilie  stole  a  look  at  the  American,  who  af- 
fected an  interest  in  the  crowd  promenading  the 
foyer.  "I  think  I  could  endure  him,"  she  purred, 
dimpling. 

21 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

Whereupon  Jallot  introduced  Osbourne  to  the 
girl  and  her  father,  who  presently  asked,  "What 
is  the  trouble  with  your  play,  Monsieur?  When 
you  read  it  to  me,  I  was  impressed  both  with  its 
diction  and  the  ingenuity  of  its  plot,  and  I  felt 
confident  of  its  succcess." 

"The  fault  lies  with  the  jeune  premier,  and,  in 
fact,  with  every  member  of  the  cast,  excepting 
only  Mademoiselle  Remy  and  Liotau,"  replied  Jal- 
lot. 

"But  they  have  played  here  for  weeks  and  given 
entire  satisfaction.  I  do  not  think  your  play 
should  offer  greater  obstacles  to  an  artist  than 
those  of  Voltaire,  for  instance." 

"No,  Monsieur,  it  does  not.  Rouquette  and 
his  friends  in  the  company  are  deliberately  mis- 
interpreting their  roles.  Shortly  before  the  rise 
of  the  curtain,  I  had  an  encounter  with  the  lead- 
ing man,  and  this  is  the  way  he  requites  me." 

Trudeau  looked  at  the  dramatist  doubtfully. 

"There  were  witnesses,  Monsieur,"  said  Jallot. 
"I  shall  refer  you  to  Mademoiselle  Remy  and  Lio- 
tau." 

"It  is  very  unfortunate,"  grumbled  the  director, 
stroking  his  double  chin. 

"It  is  outrageous!"  exclaimed  Ottilie;  "and 
Monsieur  Osbourne  agrees  with  me.  Do  you 
not?"  she  asked,  appealing  to  the  American. 

"Without  a  doubt,"  he  rejoined  promptly. 
"Even  I  could  see  that  Rouquette  was  acting  ab- 

22 


"THE  GATEWAY  OF  DREAMS" 

ominably.  I  believe  that  Jallot,  himself,  could 
play  the  part  better." 

"I  should  hope  so,"  sneered  the  author. 

Ottilie  clasped  her  hands  and  impulsively 
gasped,  "What  an  idea!  Monsieur  Jallot  might 
take  this  wretched  player's  place  and  finish  the 
play  himself." 

"Impossible!"  declared  Trudeau.  "Monsieur 
Jallot  is  not  an  actor." 

"That  would  not  deter  me  in  the  least,"  re- 
torted the  playwright.  "What  must  be  done,  can 
be  done !" 

"Bravo!"   ejaculated   Osbourne. 

"But  it  is  too  late  to  make  the  change  now, 
even  if  Monsieur  should  be  able  to  play  the  part," 
objected  the  director. 

"Not  at  all,"  Ottilie  insisted.  "There  is  still  an 
act  to  be  played,  and  if  it  were  well  done,  the 
whole  performance  might  be  turned  into  a  suc- 
cess." 

"An  excellent  idea,"  put  in  Osbourne,  "if  Jallot 
would  dare  undertake  the  part  at  such  short  no- 
tice." 

Jallot  took  this  as  a  sort  of  challenge,  replying 
sharply,  "I  know  every  line.  It  only  remains  for 
Monsieur  Trudeau  to  use  whatever  authority  he 
may  possess—*-" 

"Papa,  you  must !"  The  girl,  laying  an  appeal- 
ing hand  upon  her  father's  arm,  entreated  him  to 
arrange  matter*  so  that  Jallot  might  take  the 

23 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT. 

place  of  Rouqtiette. 

"My  dear,  how  is  it  possible?  I  do  not  wish 
to  humiliate  the  actor,  although — " 

Ottilie  interrupted  him.  "It  is  perfectly  sim- 
ple. You  announce  from  the  stage  that  Rouquette 
has  been  taken  ill  suddenly,  and  that  another 
actor  has  graciously  consented  to  go  on  in  his 
stead.  Now  hurry,  both  of  you,  or  you  will  be 
too  late." 

Used  to  giving  his  daughter  her  way,  Trudeau 
made  no  further  objection,  but  bidding  Jallot,  who 
was  now  all  eagerness,  to  follow  him,  started  in 
the  direction  of  the  stage. 

Ottilie  looked  after  them  with  satisfaction,  and 
gleefully  remarked,  "Fancy  the  chagrin  of  Rou- 
quette !" 

"What  a  vengeful  little  lady  you  are,"  laughed 
the  American.  "I  should  always  wish  you  to  be 
on  my  side.  My  friend  Jallot  is  very  lucky  to 
have  you  for  his  champion." 

She  laughed  back  at  him  daintily.  "I  did  not 
think  that  an  American  could  be  so — so  amiable. 
I  am  inclined  to  like  you — because  you  call  Mon- 
sieur Jallot  your  friend." 

Osbourne's  big  blue  eyes  glowed  down  upon 
her.  He  was  frankly  pleased,  though  a  trifle  em- 
barrassed. "I — I  am  his  friend,"  he  stammered. 

"How  fortunate  you  are !  I  wish  I  were  a  man 
that  I,  too,  might  claim  friendship  with  Monsieur 
Jallot;  but  I  am  a  woman,  and  though  I  revolt  in 

24 


"THE  GATEWAY  OF  DREAMS" 

my  heart,  I  must  observe  a  certain  convention 
in  the  selection  of  my  intimates,  while  even  some 
of  the  most  straight-laced  of  our  men  may  make 
a  companion  of  Monsieur,  so  long  as  they  do  not 
take  him  home  with  them.  Ah,  if  he  were  only 
a  pirate,  for  instance,  instead  of  a  barber !"  Ot- 
tilie  sighed  with  a  pretty  air  of  melancholy.  "Why 
is  he  a  barber?"  she  asked  suddenly. 

"Perhaps  he  was  born  one." 

"No,  no !"  she  positively  asserted.  "His  man- 
ner, his  speech — oh,  and  his  hands — have  you  no- 
ticed his  hands? — No,  he  was  not  born  a  barber." 

Scattered  exclamations,  which  became  a  gen- 
eral murmur,  attracted  their  attention. 

"Look,  Monsieur!"  cried  Ottilie;  "my  lovely 
papa  is  obeying  instructions!" 

Trudeau  was  stepping  out  on  the  stage  in  front 
of  the  curtain  to  inform  the  audience  that  Ron- 
quette  had  been  stricken  with  illness.  He  begged 
their  indulgence  for  the  inexperienced  actor,  who, 
without  preparation,  had  consented  to  take  ths 
place  of  the  leading  man.  This  announcement 
was  received  with  applause,  because  the  jeune 
premier  was  no  favorite;  and  the  house  began  to 
speculate  upon  the  identity  of  the  debutant. 

Meanwhile  Trudeau  rejoined  his  daughter. 
"You  have  involved  me  in  an  awkward  affair,  my 
dear,"  said  he,  shaking  his  great  head  ruefully. 
"Rouquette  was  furious.  He  handed  me  his  res- 
ignation." 

25 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

"So  much  the  better!"  Thereupon,  Ottilie  gave 
a  nod  and  a  smile  to  Osbourne,  and,  taking  her 
father's  arm,  led  him  to  the  directors'  box,  where 
they  had  scarcely  seated  themselves,  when  the 
curtain  rose. 

Jallot  was  recognized  the  instant  that  he  en- 
tered upon  the  scene,  but  he  received  no  greet- 
ing other  than  ejaculations  of  surprise  and  a  soli- 
tary hiss  from  the  balcony  where  Rouquette 
sulked.  For  a  few  moments  the  actors  could  not 
be  heard  on  account  of  the  comment  of  the  au- 
dience, who  for  the  most  part  severely  criticised 
the  dramatist's  audacity. 

Said  one,  "First  we  are  inflicted  with  his  play; 
now  we  must  endure  his  acting." 

*4Let  us  go,"  suggested  another. 

"No,"  laughed  a  third;  "this  promises  to  be 
highly  amusing." 

"There  is  nothing  of  the  actor  about  that  man," 
grumbled  an  old  Creole. 

"You  are  mistaken,"  returned  his  feminine  com- 
panion; "Jallot  is  fascinating." 

It  soon,  indeed,  became  apparent  to  the  most 
biased  mind  that  the  comedy  would  have  proved 
more  palatable  if  Jallot  had  played  the  part 
throughout  the  performance.  While  he  was 
without  experience  as  a  player,  he  nevertheless 
possessed  a  natural  aptitude  for  dramatic  expres- 
sion, a  charm  of  manner,  an  earnestness  and  a 
buoyancy,  which,  together  with  an  appearance  at 

26 


once  debonair  and  distinguished,  won  the  ad- 
miration and  sympathy  of  his  auditors  in  spite  of 
their  prejudice.  They  presently  forgot  to  think 
of  him  as  "the  barber,"  and  he  became  to  them  the 
bright  image  of  romance  in  the  person  of  the 
Marquis  of  Mirth,  whose  gay  laughter  echoed 
through  the  Courts  of  Gloom,  turning  sorrow 
into  joy,  and  who  chose  the  lowliest  of  all  for  his 
very  own. 

Jallot's  enthusiasm  was  contagious.  Players  and 
spectators  contracted  it.  The  act  moved  with 
fervor  and  even  brilliancy.  He  snatched  victory 
from  the  clutch  of  defeat;  and,  when  the  curtain 
fell,  the  house  called  him  out  that  there  might  be 
no  question  of  his  triumph. 

While  the  theatre  reverberated  with  applause 
and  cries  of  "bravo!"  one  woman  at  least  sat  still, 
making  no  demonstration.  Her  delicate  hands 
were  clasped  tightly,  her  great  velvety  black  eyes 
were  fixed  upon  Jallot,  now  bowing  before  the 
curtain.  As  he  raised  his  head  he  met  that  com- 
pelling gaze,  and  in  all  the  audience  saw  only 
that  one  woman.  Whether  hers  was  a  glance 
of  sympathy,  or  a  look  of  admiration,  he  could  not 
tell,  though  he  thought  much  upon  it,  for  he  had 
but  to  shut  his  eyes  to  see  hers  again. 

The  people  were  rising  to  leave  the  playhouse, 
and  still  the  woman  sat  there  with  hands  clasped, 
gazing  at  the  place  where  she  had  last  seen  Jallot. 

"The  play  is  over,  Antoinette,"  said  the  old 

27 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

German  impatiently. 

"Your  scarf,  Mademoiselle!"  Gazonac  draped 
the  mantle  about  her  shoulders. 

"Do  you  know  of  any  one  who  could  give  me 
fencing  lessons,  Monsieur?"  she  asked,  abruptly, 
rising. 

"Well,  there's  Planton!"  he  suggested. 

"Planton !"  sneered  Froebel.  "He  to  Jallot 
cannot  be  compared !" 

"But  there  must  be  some  one  else,"  insisted 
Antoinette. 

"You  might  study  with  Dalcourt,"  ventured  the 
Frenchman. 

"I  tell  you  this,  Antoinette,  if  you  have  into 
your  head  taken  the  idea  that  you  wish  to  fence, 
you  shall  no  lessons  take  from  anybody  but  Jal- 
lot !"  Her  guardian  was  evidently  not  to  be 
crossed  in  this  matter. 

"As  you  wish,  mon  pbrc"  sighed  Antoinette, 
like  one  yielding  a  point  with  great  reluctance. 
"I  shall  obey  you  and  take  lessons  of  Monsieur 
Jallot." 


CHAPTER  II 

MADEMOISELLE   OP   THE    MAGNOLIAS 

Ludwig  Froebel  lived  in  the  aristocratic  Fau- 
bourg St.  Jean  on  the  Bayou  Road,  which  was  a 
continuation  of  the  Rue  du  Maine.  His  villa, 
known  as  "The  Magnolias,"  with  its  red-tiled  roof 
and  yellow  plastered  walls,  broad  verandas  and 
pilastered  doorways,  stood  within  a  grove  of 
evergreen.  A  thick  hedge  of  Spanish  dagger, 
weighted  with  white  taper-like  blossoms,  screened 
it  from  the  road;  and  a  fantastically  grilled  gate 
gave  entrance  to  an  arched  avenue  of  magnolias, 
which  flowered  to  the  threshold.  There  was 
something  inviting  about  the  appearance  of  the 
villa.  The  latticed  windows  looked  down  upon 
the  visitor  with  a  friendly  expression,  while  the 
wide  porticoes  spoke  of  hospitality.  The  back  of 
the  mansion,  which  faced  the  south,  was  even 
more  picturesque.  There,  the  second  story,  ex- 
tending far  over  the  base,  was  supported  by 
roughly  masoned  pillars,  about  which  clustered 
jasmine  in  fragrant  abundance,  forming  a  sort  of 
bower.  Beyond  its  shade  lay  a  parterre  of  chero- 
kee  roses,  fringed  around  with  lilies;  and  beyond 

29 


that,  where  the  evergreens  thinned,  an  orchard  in 
blossoming  time  sweetened  the  soft  air  with  the 
spicy  incense  of  orange,  fig  and  pomegranate. 
Over  all  spread  the  golden  sunshine,  glowing 
from  a  sky  of  turquoise  blue. 

For  long  years,  none,  save  slaves,  had  trod  the 
white-shelled  paths  or  ministered  to  the  flowers. 
Now  all  was  changed.  Antoinette,  in  the  first 
bloom  of  womanhood,  had  returned  from  a  ten 
years'  exile  in  France,  whither  she  had  been  sent 
to  acquire  an  education  more  illuminating  than 
that  afforded  by  the  young  city  of  New  Orleans. 
She  brought  to  the  house  of  the  widowed  German 
the  glorious  touch  of  femininity  which  made  it 
sought  as  ardently  as  ever  was  Colchos  strand. 

Antoinette  had  been  home  from  abroad  but  a 
month,  yet  the  Jasons  were  already  come  in  quest 
of  her,  only  to  find  her  guarded  more  jealously 
than  was  the  golden  fleece.  An  elderly  but  vigor- 
ous colored  bonne,  Caresse,  served  the  girl  as 
maid  and  protectress,  never  leaving  her  unat- 
tended, save  when  Froebel,  himself,  became  her 
escort.  Antoinette,  brought  up  under  the  strict 
surveillance  of  convent  life,  accepted  the  service 
of  Caresse  as  a  queen  might  a  guard  of  honor. 
Indeed,  she  possessed  a  gracious  air  of  sover- 
eignty, which  was  as  innate  as  her  loveliness. 
Something  in  the  poise  of  her  head,  the  graceful 
movement  of  Her  tall,  supple,  delicately  modeled 
figure,  a  gesture — bringitig  into  play  a  beautifully 

30 


proportioned  arm  and  an  expressive  hand,  fin- 
ished with  long,  pink-tipped  fingers — gave  the 
impression  of  a  woman  bred  to  rule.  And  rule 
she  did  those  happy,  lucky  mortals — foster-father, 
lovers,  friends  and  slaves — who  formed  the  court 
she  held  in  the  Villa  of  the  Magnolias  on  the  old 
Bayou  Road. 

There,  before  the  low  fire  in  the  open  hallway, 
sat  Antoinette  on  the  afternoon  immediately  fol- 
lowing the  night  of  Victor  Jallot's  triumph  at  the 
Theatre  Saint  Pierre.  Her  seat  was  a  great  Floren- 
tine chair,  cushioned  in  red;  and  her  head-rest, 
its  high  carved  back.  Her  hands  showed  white 
against  the  dark  arms  of  her  throne,  and  the  tips 
of  her  slippers  looked  out  from  beneath  her  white 
gown  to  rest  upon  a  footstool.  The  faint  glow 
of  the  fire  softly  illuminated  her  delicate  features, 
and  made  lights  in  her  sombre  hair. 

About  the  girl,  in  various  attitudes  of  adora- 
tion, gathered  three  young  men,  and  within  eye- 
shot, ensconced  on  the  window-seat  at  the  first 
turn  of  the  stairs,  sat  Caresse,  sewing. 

Bits  of  the  conversation  floated  up  to  her. 
They  were  discussing  "The  Gateway  of  Dreams" 
and  its  author.  In  fact,  Antoinette  had  adroitly 
led  them  on  to  this  subject. 

"In  Paris,"  she  was  saying,  "I  was  in  the  habit 
of  exercising,  but  since  my  return  home  I  have 
neglected  the  practice.  So  I  thought  that  fenc- 
ing would  be  an  interesting  means  of  keeping  me 

31 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

in  good  health." 

Her  court  smiled  at  this,  and  she  smiled  back, 
for  while  there  was  scarcely  a  breath  of  color  in 
the  clear  ivory  of  her  cheeks,  there  was  every 
evidence  of  a  constitution  abounding  in  youthful 
vigor. 

"My  father,"  she  went  on,  "insists,  since  I  have 
made  up  my  mind  to  be  energetic,  that  I  should 
employ  Monsieur  Jallot  as  my  maitre  d'armcs. 
He  seems  to  have  a  high  regard  for  this  versatile 
person,  notwithstanding  that  the  gentleman  main- 
tains a  barber's  establishment.  I  should  have 
thought  that  a  man,  possessed  of  the  talents  which 
Monsieur  Jallot  has  displayed,  must  have  some 
reason  for  his  curious,  and — to  me — incongruous 
employment." 

"There  is  something  in  being  the  best  barber 
in  New  Orleans,  I  suppose,"  remarked  one,  tenta- 
tively. 

"That  is  my  father's  opinion,"  continued  An- 
toinette. "He  tells  me  that  the  'Atelier  Jallot/ 
which  I  believe  is  the  name  Monsieur  le  Barbier 
has  bestowed  upon  his  shop,  is  the  fashionable 
tonsorial  establishment  of  the  city;  that  its  pa- 
trons are  all  people  of  the  best  families;  that  you 
may  with  perfect  propriety  visit  the  atelier  for  the 
purpose  of  having  your  hair  dressed,  or  for  in- 
struction in  dancing  or  fencing  or  even  deport- 
ment. I  am  further  informed  that  Monsieur  han- 
dles a  foil  with  as  much  skill  as  he  wields  a  razor, 

32 


MADEMOISELLE  OF  THE  MAGNOLIAS 

and  that  he  is  as  expert  in  the  dance  as  he  is 
happy  in  the  composition  of  verse.  According 
to  my  father,  who  has  patronized  his  shop  for 
many  years,  this  barber  is  amiable,  witty  and  wise; 
in  short,  a  kind  of  paragon." 

"A  paragon  ?  Yes,  if  you  admire  that  sort,"  put 
in  another  with  a  grimace. 

"That  is  the  point,"  resumed  the  girl.  "While 
I  confess  to  great  veneration  for  my  father's  opin- 
ion, I  am  constrained  to  think  that  he  may  be  less 
fit  to  judge  of  the  character  and  accomplishments 
of  this  gentleman-barber  than  any  one  of  you, 
who,  at  various  times,  must  have  encountered 
him.  Perhaps  you  will  be  good  enough  to  en- 
lighten me  further  as  to  his  personality  and  abil- 
ity, for,  since  I  must  of  necessity  accept  him  as 
an  instructor  in  fencing,  if  I  am  to  fence  at  all,  I 
would  know  more  of  him." 

The  three  men  listened  attentively  to  An- 
toinette, if  not  to  her  words,  certainly  to  the 
sound  of  her  voice,  which  fell  upon  their  willing 
ears  in  soft  cadences.  To  the  poesy  of  her  speech 
was  added  the  fascination  of  her  face,  which  mir- 
rored her  thoughts  in  ever-changing,  animated 
expressions.  Through  her  brilliant  red  lips  flashed 
the  whitest  of  teeth,  and  her  great  velvety  dark 
eyes,  imperial  mysteries,  compelled  their  admira- 
tion. 

"Now  you,  Monsieur  Gazonac,"  she  demanded 
of  the  belligerent-looking  Frenchman,  who  bore 

33 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

a  scar  across  his  cheek,  and  whose  cold,  steely 
glance  met  her  questioning  look  unflinchingly; 
"surely  can  tell  me  something  of  Monsieur  Jal- 
lot,  because  I  remember  last  night,  when  I  had 
no  reason  to  be  interested  in  this  gentleman,  that 
you  volunteered  some  remarks,  which  made  me 
think  that  the  barber  might  not  be  the  paragon  he 
is  pictured." 

"Oh,"  he  exclaimed  derisively,  without  shifting 
his  gaze,  "Jallot  is  a  very  good  barber,  and  an  ex- 
cellent dancing  master;  a  diplomatic  fellow,  who 
hoodwinks  the  unknowing  into  thinking  him  a 
model  of  virtue,  and  who  aspires  to  the  society  of 
those  whom  he  is  only  fit  to  shave." 

"A  rather  negative  endorsement,"  commented 
Antoinette,  arfd  turned  her  attention  to  an  ex- 
tremely tall;  thin  and  sallow  Creole  of  about  forty, 
who  was  fastidiously  taking  a  pinch  of  snuff. 
"Monsieur  Villebqis,  what  is  your  estimate  of 
Monsieur  Jallot?"  she  quizzed,  giving  him  a  smile, 
which  had  the  effect  of  a  shock.  He  sat  bolt  up- 
right, and,  extending  a  long  arm,  in  the  way  of 
an  emphatic  gesture,  declared,  "Jallot  is  a 
genius!  He  can  shave  you  without  a  scratch, 
kill  you  without  a  fluke,  and  write  your  epitaph 
without  a  dictionary!"  A  grin  slit  the  speaker's 
thin  face,  as  though  it  had  been  cut  with  a 
knife. 

"What  an  exceedingly  amiable  portrait  you  draw 
of  your  genius,"  she  laughed  lightly.  "Let  me 

34 


MADEMOISELLE  OF  THE  MAGNOLIAS 

hope  that  Monsieur  Lemaitre  will  be  more  reassur- 
ing." 

"Reassuring?"  ejaculated  Villebois,  his  small 
green  eyes  widening  in  mock  wonder.  "Made- 
moiselle, I  claim  that  I  have  given  him  a  superb 
character,  providing,  of  course,  that  you  are  really 
seeking  a  maltre  d'annes  and  not  a  majordomo." 

Antoinette,  affecting  not  to  hear  this  remark, 
appealed  to  the  youngest  of  the  three — a  hand- 
some, gaily  dressed  Creole,  whose  curly  black 
hair  rendered  pale  his  proud  face,  which  habitual- 
ly wore  a  petulant  expression.  "Monsieur  Le- 
maitre, do  you  know  this  barber?" 

"Intimately,"  he  confessed.  "I  have  known  him 
for  a  long  time,  and  I  assure  you  that  he  is  a  most 
amusing  person.  I  have  seen  him  juggle  six  eggs 
at  once  without  breaking  one,  and  before  my  very 
eyes  turn  them  into  as  many  cakes  of  soap." 

"There  is  no  doubt  then,"  she  mocked,  "that, 
as  Monsieur  Villebois  claims,  he  is  a  genius;  but 
what  of  his  character?" 

"A  genius  has  no  need  of  a  character,"  main- 
tained Villebois,  fondly  stroking  down  the  nap  of 
his  beaver  as  though  it  were  the  fur  of  a  favorite 
cat.  "His  every  fault  and  eccentricity,  each 
having  its  halo,  make  him  appear  as  a  saint 
exiled  from  paradise.  That  is  why  women  adore 
geniuses !" 

Antoinette  gave  a  little  laugh.  "How  cunning 
you  are  in  laying  bare  our  foibles,  Monsieur.  \ 

35 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

dare  say  that  you  are  as  familiar  with  my  heart, 
for  instance,  as  you  are  with  your  breviary." 

"Quite,"  derided  Gazonac,  .glad  of  an  oppor- 
tunity to  rap  the  knuckles  of  his  acknowledged 
rival.  "For  my  part,  I  confess  to  knowing  nothing 
about  women,  but  I  give  them  the  credit  of  having 
}too  much  pride  to  place  a  halo  about  the  head  of 
a  barber.  And  were  I  asked  if  Jallot  were  the 
man  to  instruct  Mademoiselle  in  fencing,  I  should 
say  'no'  and  recommend  her  to  Planton!" 

"Yes,  Planton  is  excellent!  He  taught  me," 
boasted  Lemaitre. 

"Which  should  be  enough  to  induce  Made- 
moiselle to  study  with  Jallot,"  chuckled  Villebois. 

"I  think  I  shall  take  your  advice,  Monsieur," 
said  Antoinette,  with  a  smile;  "because — I  am 
obliged  to,  anyway." 

After  this  Villebois  took  to  plaguing  Lemaitre 
about  his  fencing,  and  the  young  Creole,  not 
relishing  the  laughter  raised  at  his  expense,  and 
having  none  but  a  friendly  interest  in  Antoinette, 
presently  departed.  Then  Gazonac  and  Villebois, 
each  growing  more  furious  as  the  other  persist- 
ently tarried,  exchanged  a  look  of  understanding 
and  went  out  together,  as  though  by  common  con- 
sent they  had  agreed  upon  that  policy;  but  when 
they  reached  the  road,  the  Creole,  professing 
to  have  left  his  snuff-box  behind,  excused  himself 
and  returned  to  the  villa,  a  maneuver  which  did 
not  deceive  Gazonac  in  the  least. 

36 


MADEMOISELLE  OF  THE  MAGNOLIAS 

Villebois  found  Antoinette  where  he  had  left 
her,  gazing  thoughtfully  into  the  fire.  "Mademoi- 
selle," he  began,  "I  left  something  behind.  It  is 
a  thing,  however,  which  I  do  not  wish  to  take 
away,  and  I  am  emboldened  to  speak  of  it,  for  the 
reason  that  it  seemed  to  me  that  you — " 

He  stopped  short,  as  she  looked  up  at  him  in 
mild  amazement.  He  had  set  out  to  do  the  thing, 
and,  though  he  could  now  perceive  no  encourage- 
ment in  her  glance,  he  persisted.  "It — it  was  my 
— my  heart,"  he  stammered. 

"Ah,"  she  exclaimed  merrily,  "I  will  have 
Caresse  look  for  it;  and  if  she  finds  it,  I  will  post 
it  to  you  in  the  morning." 

"Thank  you,  Mademoiselle,"  grinned  Villebois 
in  a  crestfallen  fashion;  "but  I  ventured  to  hope 
that  you — " 

"It  is  dangerous  to  hope  for  anything  from  me, 
but  I  scarcely  need  tell  you  that,  since  no  doubt 
you  read — " 

"My  dismissal  in  your  look?" 

She  smiled  enigmatically. 

"Then  to  the  bitter  end,"  he  announced.  "I  am 
a  Creole,  Mademoiselle,  and  my  family  is  a  proud 
one;  but  I  humble  myself  before  you,  and  entreat 
you  to  have  mercy — for  surely  one  so  beautiful — " 

"Hush,"  she  warned;  "Caresse  will  hear!" 

"I  am  not  so  stupid  that  I  do  not  know  when 
I  have  been  honored  with  the  mitten.  In  this 
extremity  I  have  one  satisfaction :  I  am  now  eligi- 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

ble  to  that  coterie  known  as  'The  Rejected  of 
Mademoiselle  of  the  Magnolias.' ' 

Antoinette  started  up,  frowningly.  "Someone 
has  taken  a  great  liberty !" 

"Some  one?  No,  Mademoiselle,  some  six,  at 
least! — philosophers  all,  who,  next  best  to  being 
loved  by  you,  esteem  themselves  happy  in  having 
been  dismissed  by  you,"  he  concluded  with  a 
humorous  flourish. 

"Hah,"  he  soliloquized,  as  he  walked  down  the 
path,  "I  wish  I  had  forgotten  to  forget  my  snuff- 
box!" 


CHAPTER  III 
i 

IN  THE  ATELIER  JALLOT 

Down  the  Bayou  went  Froebel  with  Antoinette 
swinging  on  his  arm  like  an  ornament,  and  play- 
fully keeping  step  with  him  as  he  twirled  his  cane 
after  the  fashion  of  a  beau.  He  was  exceedingly 
proud  of  the  girl  and  showed  it  in  the  way  he 
looked  down  at  her  through  his  gold-rimmed  gog- 
gles, while  she  returned  his  admiring  glances  with 
smiles  as  exhilarating  as  the  morning. 

They  were  walking  in  the  direction  of  the  city, 
which  lay  all  red  and  yellow  in  the  bright 
December  sunshine,  about  a  third  of  a  mile  away. 
The  air  was  soft  and  clear,  the  footway  dry,  and 
their  spirits  light,  so  that  they  took  pleasure  in 
every  step  and  kept  up  an  animated  dialogue,  for 
Antoinette,  still  strange  to  New  Orleans,  was  full 
of  questioning. 

Their  way  led  them  past  stately  villas,  set  far 
back  from  the  road  and  hemmed  in  with  low  walls, 
topped  by  grills  or  hedges  of  wild  orange  and  pit- 
tosporum.  Graceful  crepe  myrtles,  cedars  and 
cypresses,  cast  violet  shadows  over  the  walk,  and 
every  breath  of  air  brought  whiffs  of  roses. 

39 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

As  they  approached  the  Rue  Dauphine,  the  out- 
post of  the  city  proper,  the  villas  gave  way  to 
irregular  rows  of  houses,  for  the  Bayou  Road, 
there — at  the  crossing  of  the  canal — became  the 
Rue  du  Maine;  and  instead  of  scattered  pedes- 
trians, they  encountered  the  lazy  life  of  a  port  just 
beginning  to  respond  to  the  energetic  undertak- 
ings of  Americans. 

Here,  on  the  one  side,  was  a  Spanish  cottage 
with  mottled  walls,  one  story  high,  and  a  crazy 
tiled  roof;  on  the  other,  perhaps,  an  arcade  front 
to  a  more  pretentious  structure,  the  lower  floor 
occupied  as  a  shop  and  the  upper  as  a  dwelling. 
Again,  a  strange  lop-sided  domicile  with  peaked 
roof  and  balconies,  leaned  wearily  against  a  lowly 
neighbor  built  of  stuccoed  brick  and  boasting  a 
terrace.  Through  an  arch  they  caught  a  glimpse 
of  a  courtyard,  rimmed  around  with  galleries,  and 
set  out  with  fig  and  orange  trees  in  stone  jars; 
while  further  on,  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  Royale, 
stood  the  Marquis  of  Casa  Calvo's  house,  an  im- 
posing edifice,  with  many  balconies  and  a  belve- 
dere. 

In  spite  of  their  irregularity,  or  may  be  on  ac- 
count of  it,  the  rows  of  shops  and  dwellings 
presented  a  picturesque  appearance.  All  of  them 
were  more  or  less  decorated  with  stucco  work  and 
grills,  and  their  white  and  yellow  plastered  walls, 
softened  and  stained  by  the  weather,  gave  them  a 
certain  richness  of  tone  against  the  wonderful  blue 

40 


IN  THE  ATELIER  JALLOT 

of  that  tropical  sky.  Flowers  were  everywhere, 
gaily  coloring  the  terraces,  balconies  and  case- 
ments. 

"How  intimate  the  houses  seem,"  exclaimed 
Antoinette;  "how  happily  neighbored;  the  doors 
all  opening  so  invitingly;  balcony  smiling  at  gal- 
lery, terrace  reaching  out  to  arcade;  all  so  close, 
so  friendly.  I  am  sure  that  the  good  people  who 
live  in  them  must  be  devotees  of  the  golden  rule." 

"That  very  much  depends,  my  dear,  whether 
you  have,  yourself,  a  grandmother  who  laced  the 
stays  of  Marie  Antoinette,  or  a  grandfather  who 
the  sword  of  the  Bloody  O'Reilly  sharpened," 
grunted  Froebel. 

He  came  to  a  halt  a  few  doors  from  the  Rue 
Chartres  and  pointed  to  an  arched  portal  of  lime- 
washed  stucco,  overhung  with  a  grilled  balcony, 
which  fairly  blazed  with  poppies.  "Here  it  is — the 
Atelier  Jallot,"  he  announced. 

Entering,  they  found  themselves  in  a  wide  pas- 
sage— the  vestibule  to  a  spacious  court,  open  to 
the  sun,  which  cast  the  fantastic  shadows  of  gal- 
lery, arcade  and  eave  over  the  tiled  pavement,  and 
set  the  lazy  fountain  with  a  huge  opal.  Directly 
across  the  court,  and  under  a  gallery,  stood  a  great 
double  door  of  oak,  ornamented  with  heavy  iron 
hinges,  a  small  grating  and  a  ponderous  knocker, 
which  Froebel  now  used  vigorously. 

His  summons  was  answered  by  a  dapper  little 
quadroon,  in  a  pale  green  coat  and  snuff  colored 

41 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

breeches,  who,  at  the  sight  of  the  merchant  and 
the  girl,  smiled  broadly.  In  a  melodious  patois 
he  bade  them  enter,  saying  that  Monsieur  Jallot 
was  giving  Mademoiselle  Trudeau  a  fencing  les- 
son, but  that  he  would  wait  upon  them  presently. 
With  that  he  ushered  the  visitors  into  a  large  room 
well  lighted  at  the  further  end  by  a  high  arched 
window,  through  which  they  caught  glimpses  of  a 
garden.  Near  this  window  stood  a  tonsor  chair, 
and  a  table,  bearing  a  mirror  and  the  paraphernalia 
of  a  barber.  Arched  doorways  on  each  side  broke 
the  monotony  of  the  immaculate  yellow  walls,  hung 
here  and  there  with  foils  and  swords,  rows  of 
fencing  masks  and  leather  breastplates,  all  sug- 
gesting an  armory  rather  than  an  atelier. 

In  the  centre  of  the  room  Jallot  and  Ottilie 
Trudeau  were  fencing,  while,  from  a  bench  against 
the  wall,  Tonton,  a  pretty  octoroon  girl,  Made- 
moiselle's maid,  looked  on  with  interest.  She  rose 
immediately  upon  the  entrance  of  Antoinette  and 
Froebel  and  remained  standing. 

Jallot,  seeing  the  visitors  at  the  door,  excused 
himself  to  Ottilie,  and  removing  his  fencing  mask, 
advanced  to  greet  them.  Within  a  few  paces  of 
Antoinette,  he  stopped  short,  like  one  challenged 
suddenly  in  the  dark.  As  a  matter  of  fact  he  was 
challenged,  though  not  by  a  voice.  For  an  instant 
his  fancy  carried  him  back  upon  the  stage  of  the 
Theatre  Saint  Pierre  and  he  was  looking  into  a 
pair  of  velvety  eyes.  He  closed  his  as  if  to  dispel 

42 


IN  THE  ATELIER  JALLOT 

the  illusion,  but  saw  it  only  the  more  vividly.  He 
looked  again.  They  were  the  same  eyes,  but  with 
this  difference :  they  gazed  upon  him  with  imperial 
unconcern. 

"Extraordinary!"  he  thought,  bowing. 

Froebel  spoke.  "Jallot,  this  is  my  daughter, 
Antoinette.  It  was  about  her  that  I  talked  to  you 
regarding  the  lessons." 

The  girl  acknowledged  the  introduction  with  a 
pretty  inclination  of  her  head,  not  intended  to  be 
particularly  cordial.  The  barber  bowed  again. 
"I  shall  be  happy  to  instruct  Mademoiselle." 

Ottilie,  who  had  taken  off  her  mask,  now 
came  toward  Antoinette,  holding  out  her  hand. 
"Mademoiselle  Froebel,  I  hope  you  will  remember 
me!" 

"Of  course,  Mademoiselle  Trudeau,"  exclaimed 
the  other,  shaking  the  proffered  hand  warmly.  "I 
did  not  recognize  you  behind  your  mask.  How 
beautifully  you  fence !" 

The  Creole  girl  dimpled  and  gave  Jallot  a  grate- 
ful look.  "If  I  do,"  she  returned,  "it  is  because  I 
have  such  an  admirable  master." 

Jallot  made  a  gay  gesture  of  protest. 

"Did  I  not  tell  you,  my  dear,"  submitted 
Froebel,  addressing  himself  to  his  daughter,  "that 
he  was  a  master?" 

The  maltre  d'armes  smiled  in  modest  toleration 
and  inquired  whether  Antoinette  had  ever  used  a 
foil. 

43 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

Before  she  could  reply,  Ottilie  questioned  her 
enthusiastically:  "Are  you  come  to  take  lessons 
in  fencing,  Mademoiselle?" 

"I  am  going  to  study  dancing,"  responded  An- 
toinette. She  had  seen  how  gracefully  the  pretty 
Creole  had  handled  her  foil,  and  abandoned  at 
once  all  thought  of  fencing,  deciding  upon  an 
exercise  in  which  she  would  at  least  appear  at 
equal  advantage  with  Ottilie. 

Jallot  turned  to  her  in  some  surprise,  and 
Froebel  gasped,  "Dancing?" 

"Precisely,  mon  p£re,"  she  persisted  amiably; 
"what  else  did  you  think?" 

"Fencing  and  nothing  else,"  asseverated  the 
merchant. 

Antoinette  gazed  at  him,  assuming  an  expres- 
sion of  wonder,  and  exclaimed :  "What  a  curious 
mistake!  Monsieur  Jallot  does  not  teach  danc- 
ing?" 

"Certainly,"  the  barber  hastened  to  assure  her. 

"But  you  to  dance  already  know  how,"  objected 
the  bewildered  German. 

Jallot  came  to  the  girl's  rescue.  "There  are 
many  steps  and  figures,  which  Mademoiselle,  how- 
ever accomplished  she  may  be,  could  not  have 
learned  in  France,  for  here,  as  you  know,  we  have 
dances  unfamiliar  to  Paris." 

"And  no  one  knows  them  so  well  as  Monsieur 
Jallot,"  put  in  Ottilie. 

"Then  it  is  settled,"  announced  Antoinette.     "I 

44 


should  like  to  take  two  or  three  lessons  every 
week,  if  Monsieur  can  spare  the  time." 

"I  shall  make  the  time,  Mademoiselle !" 

"Then  let  it  be  on  Mondays,  Wednesdays  and 
Fridays  at  eleven.  Will  that  be  satisfactory,  Mon- 
sieur?" 

"Entirely  so!    When  do  you  wish  to  begin?" 

"The  day  after  to-morrow!" 

"That  is  Wednesday,  the  twenty-first  of  the 
month,"  reflected  the  methodical  merchant,  and 
then  signalled  Antoinette  his  desire  to  go. 

"I  wish  that  you  would  let  me  be  friends  with 
you,"  confided  Ottilie,  impulsively  taking  An- 
toinette's hand. 

"Rather  permit  me  to  offer  my  friendship  for 
yours,"  she  rejoined  graciously.  So  they  ex- 
changed kisses  and  addresses;  and  Antoinette  left 
the  Atelier  Jallot  even  more  happily  than  she  had 
entered  it. 

"You  are  very  fortunate  in  securing  such  a 
charming  pupil,  Monsieur,"  commented  Ottilie, 
as  she  resumed  her  mask. 

"Indeed  I  am,  if  she  prove  half  so  faithful  as 
you,  Mademoiselle." 

The  Creole  girl  mocked  him  with  a  low  courtesy 
and  a  foolish  flourish  of  her  foil.  "I  shall  remind 
you  of  that  compliment  when  next  you  scold  me. 
Come !  My  wrist  is  well  rested.  En  garde!" 

They  were  concluding  the  lesson  when  Poupet 
— Jallot's  little  quadroon  assistant — announced 

45 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

that  Osbourne  was  at  the  door. 

"Tell  him  I  regret  that  I  can  receive  no  one 
until  noon.  At  that  hour,  if  he  will  be  so  kind  as 
to  return,  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  him,"  said 
Jallot. 

"Wait,"  commanded  Ottilie,  as  Poupet  turned 
away;  she  appealed  to  her  fencing  master:  "Is  this 
the  American  gentleman  I  met  at  the  theatre?" 

"Yes,  Mademoiselle!" 

"Then  I  should  not  object  to  meeting  him 
again." 

"But  it  is  against  my  rules.  Between  eleven  and 
one,  the  hours  I  reserve  for  my  private  pupils,  I 
see  no  one  except  by  appointment.  Besides,  it  is 
not  fitting  that  I  should  exhibit  you  to  every 
stranger  who  knocks  at  my  atelier." 

"Fiddlesticks!"  laughed  Ottilie.  "Show  Mon- 
sieur in,  Poupet!" 

The  quadroon  bowed,  but  stood  still,  his  eyes 
on  Jallot,  who  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  said: 
"Obey  Mademoiselle !" 

At  a  sign  from  Ottilie,  her  maid  relieved  her  of 
mask  and  shield,  and  threw  a  scarf  over  her 
shoulders.  When  Osbourne  entered  he  found  the 
girl  drawing  on  her  lace  mittens. 

"I  hope  I  have  not  interrupted  your  lesson, 
Mademoiselle,"  he  began. 

She  shook  her  head.  "I  was  just  going  when 
you  came,"  she  smiled  glowingly. 

"I  am  glad  I  came,  then — that  I  may  thank  you 
46 


IN  THE  ATELIER  JALLOT 

— and  I  presume  I  do  owe  you  thanks — for  the 
invitation  to  share  your  window  at  the  Hotel  de 
Ville—  ?" 

"My  father  invited  you?"  Ottilie  affected  great 
surprise.  "How  extraordinary!  I  mean — how 
delightful ! 

"You  did  not  know?"  puzzled  Osbourne. 

"How  should  I?  Though  I  am  happy  to  think 
that  my  papa  should  have  so  far  overcome  his 
prejudice  against  Americans  as  to  include  you  in 
our  party." 

"It  is  a  pretty  compliment,"  he  rejoined.  "Don't 
you  think  so,  Jallot?" 

The  master  turned  from  the  rack,  where  he  was 
putting  up  his  foil,  and  replied,  "I  should  say  it 
was,  since  the  ceremony,  which  you  are  invited  to 
witness,  means  the  transfer  of  Louisiana  to  the 
United  States,  and  one  which  cannot  but  cause 
further  resentment  in  the  hearts  of  all  Creoles 
against  all  Americans." 

"For  that  very  reason,"  confessed  Osbourne,  "I 
am  in  doubt  as  to  the  propriety  of  accepting  Mon- 
sieur Trudeau's  courteous  invitation." 

"You  must  accept  it,"  Otillie  insisted.  "Must 
he  not,  Monsieur  Jallot?" 

"Without  a  doubt!  The  acceptance  of  such  a 
courtesy  on  the  part  of  an  American  may  do  some- 
thing toward  the  fostering  of  friendliness."  Jallot 
smiled  a  little  as  he  spoke. 

"I  shall  accept !"  announced  the  American.  This 

47 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

with  a  glowing  look  at  Ottilie,  who  dimpled  and 
returned : 

"Monsieur  Osbourne,  I  shall  never  again,  even 
in  my  thoughts,  call  you  a  barbarian !" 

With  a  smile  for  one  man  and  a  courtesy  for 
the  other,  she  turned  to  her  maid.  "Come,  Ton- 
ton  !"  she  said,  and  flitted  out  of  the  atelier. 

"It  is  curious,"  resumed  the  American,  when 
the  door  closed  on  Ottilie,  "but  I  came  here  for 
the  very  purpose  of  asking  you  something  about 
Mademoiselle  Trudeau." 

Jallot  threw  off  his  leather  jacket  and,  slipping 
into  the  coat  which  Poupet  held  for  him,  waved 
Osbourne  to  the  window-seat  and  dismissed  his 
assistant. 

These  two  men  had  known  each  other  for  about 
a  year,  and  in  that  time  they  had  developed  an 
alliance  of  genuine  affection.  The  American 
had,  with  native  broad-mindedness,  accepted  the 
Frenchman  for  what  he  was,  finding  in  him  a  kin- 
dred spirit,  a  man  whose  intellect  was  far  above 
the  station  which  he  seemed  to  occupy  so 
tenaciously.  From  the  first,  Jallot  was  attracted 
by  Osbourne's  sincerity  and  frankness,  and,  as 
their  intimacy  flowered,  he  became  less  reserved, 
discovering  in  his  friend  fine  sensibilities,  though 
a  somewhat  sluggish  wit  and  a  lack  of  imagina- 
tion. 

"To  begin  with,"  said  Jallot,  assuming  a  com- 
fortable position  opposite  his  intimate;  "I  see  that 

48 


IN  THE  ATELIER  JALLOT- 

you  are  about  to  fall  in  love  with  Mademoiselle 
Trudeau." 

Osbourne  started  in  surprise.  "I  have  no  in- 
tention of  doing  so,"  he  protested. 

"Love  is  not  a  matter  of  intention,"  laughed 
the  Frenchman;  "it  is  the  work  of  Fate  in  her  most 
mischievous  mood." 

The  American  considered  the  idea  for  a  moment, 
then,  squaring  his  broad  shoulders  against  the 
casement,  rejoined :  "According  to  your  definition, 
a  warning  is  futile." 

"Quite  right,  my  friend,"  beamed  Jallot.  "I 
spoke  on  the  impulse  to  save  you;  but  I  cannot. 
You  have  looked  into  a  pair  of  brown  eyes,  you 
have  pondered  upon  a  pair  of  red  lips!  You  are 
lost!  There  is  no  help!  Go,  be  miserable!" 

"Will  you  be  serious,"  entreated  Osbourne; 
"and  tell  me  why  I  must  'go,  be  miserable,'  grant- 
ing that  I  am  in  love." 

Jallot  laughed  a  little.  "Now  there's  a  fine 
confession  for  you!  You  are  in  an  exceedingly 
bad  way.  You  will  be  miserable;  but  let  us  take 
the  case  philosophically,  and  the  worst  may  not 
seem  so  ill  as  it  promises.  Mademoiselle  Trudeau 
is  betrothed  to  Etienne  Lemaitre." 

"That  Creole  fop!"  ejaculated  the  American, 
whose  face  reflected  his  disappointment  at  this  in- 
telligence. "Is  it  considered  a  good  match?"  he 
asked,  with  a  show  of  indifference. 

"It    is    thought    so,    I    believe,    by   both    their 

49 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

families,  who  settled  the  matter  for  them  long 
ago.  From  what  I  have  seen  of  Mademoiselle  1 
should  say  that  she  regards  Lemaitre  with  affec- 
tion." 

"And  he?" 

"It  is  a  passion  with  him,  if  I  am  any  judge  of 
men.  He  is  jealous,  even  of  me.  He  comes  here 
while  she  takes  her  lessons,  and  sits  watching  us. 
He  has  tried  to  induce  her  to  study  with  Planton; 
but  she,  like  her  father,  is  very  loyal  to  me." 

"Was  Lemaitre  here  to-day?" 

"No,  nor  has  he  been  for  a  week;  and  he  was 
not  at  the  theatre  the  other  night.  I  think  they 
must  have  had  a  quarrel,  which  happens  every  now 
and  then,  but  he  always  comes  back  and  patches 
it  up.  At  least  that  is  what  I  hear  from 
Poupet,  who  gets  his  news  from  Mademoiselle's 
maid." 

At  that  moment  Lemaitre,  himself,  entered  the 
atelier  unannounced.  He  glanced  hurriedly  about 
and,  seeing  Jallot  on  the  window-seat,  inquired  in 
a  peremptory  manner,  "Has  Mademoiselle  Tru- 
deau  been  here  this  morning?" 

"Yes,"  replied  the  barber  without  shifting  his 
position. 

,  "Hum !"  muttered  the  Creole,  striking  the  floor 
impatiently  with  his  sword-cane  and  wheeling 
about  to  the  door.  There  he  paused  and  ad- 
dressed Jallot  again.  "I  am  going  to  have  some 
friends  to  dinner  at  the  Tivoli  to-night.  Now  what 

50 


IN  THE  ATELIER  JALLOT 

would  you  charge  me  to  come  in  afterward  and 
amuse  us  with  juggling?" 

"Nothing!" 

"You  mean  to  say — ?" 

"I  mean  to  say  that  I  do  not  hire  myself  out  as 
a  mountebank.  Monsieur!"  Jallot  was  on  his  feet. 

"Morbleu!"  gasped  Lemaitre,  "what  airs  you 
are  giving  yourself  since  you  had  that  play  pro- 
duced !" 

"Ah,  you've  observed  that,  have  you  ?"  returned 
the  barber  coolly;  "then  I  would  also  call  your  at- 
tention to  the  knocker  on  my  door.  If  you  should 
come  again — use  it,  for  I  am  not  always  amiable 
to  intruders." 

The  Creole  laughed  derisively.  "It  is  not  likely 
that  I  shall  intrude  again,"  he  said,  with  a  look 
toward  Osbourne;  "as  your  shop  has  become  the 
rendezvous  of  the  canaille."  Delivering  this 
shot,  he  made  a  hasty  exit. 

"I  should  like  to  wring  that  dandy's  neck,"  ex- 
claimed the  American  with  heat. 

"Don't  bother,"  advised  Jallot;  "someone  will 
attend  to  that  for  you  one  of  these  days;  and,  in 
the  meantime,  since  you  are  really  in  love  with  his 
fiancee,  I  should  suggest  your  marrying  her." 

Osbourne  started  at  his  companion  in  amaze- 
ment. "You  mean  that?" 

"I  was  never  more  in  earnest." 

"But  how  can  it  be  done — under  the  circum- 
stances? It  seems  impossible." 

5' 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

"It  may  seem  so,  but  it  isn't;  not  if  you  make  up 
your  mind  to  succeed,"  declared  Jallot.  "Of 
course  it  will  be  difficult,  particularly  as  your  part 
is  simply  to  await  the  psychological  moment." 

"The  psychological  moment?"  grumbled  Os- 
bourne.  "What  is  it  and  when  will  it  come  ?"  His 
tone  was  mocking. 

Jallot  looked  at  him  with  a  whimsical  expres- 
sion. "I  haven't  the  slightest  idea;  but  I  shall 
know  when  it  comes  and  warn  you,  if  you  do  not 
chance  to  recognize  it  yourself." 

"Jallot,  you  are  mad !" 

"I  hope  so,  my  dear  fellow,  if  to  be  sane  should 
mean  that  I  must  be  as  hopelessly  stupid  as  you 
Americans." 


CHAPTER  IV 

JALLOT  OVERHEARS    AN    INTRIGUE    AND    THINKS 
A  RHYME 

At  nine  o'clock  the  next  morning,  Jallot  dis- 
missed Poupet  for  the  day,  closed  the  atelier  and 
walked  briskly  through  the  Rue  Chartres,  which 
was  filled  with  people  all  hurrying  in  the  same 
direction.  Their  destination  was  the  Place  d' 

s 

Armes,  whither  they  were  bound  to  witness  the 
military  ceremonies  coincident  with  the  formal 
transfer  of  Louisiana  to  the  United  States. 

It  was  a  picturesque  scene  which  greeted  the 
eyes  of  the  barber  when  he  reached  the  Rue  Ste. 
Anne  and  found  a  great  and  motley  crowd  already 
assembled  about  a  broad,  rectangular  plot  of 
ground,  in  the  centre  of  which  stood  a  flag-staff 
bearing  for  the  last  time  the  tri-colors  of 
France.  Facing  the  Rue  Chartres  was  the  St. 
Louis  Cathedral,  flanked  on  one  side  by  the 
Hotel  de  Ville  and  on  the  other  by  its  twin  struc- 
ture, the  quarters  of  the  Capuchins.  Jallot  en- 
joyed the  friendship  of  the  monks,  and  had  been 
invited  by  one  of  the  order  to  watch  the  cere- 
monies from  their  balcony.  He  pushed  his  way 
through  the  throng  to  this  haven,  and  from  its 

53 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

gallery,  where  he  was  cordially  welcomed,  pres- 
ently looked  down  upon  the  multi-colored  crowd 
about  the  plaza. 

Along  the  Rue  Ste.  Anne — before  a  row  of  brick 
stores,  gay  with  striped  awnings — stood  the 
militia  in  brave  uniforms  of  scarlet.  Directly  op- 
posite them,  in  the  press  around  the  little  charity 
hospital,  Jallot  saw  a  great  yellow-brown  patch — a 
band  of  American  woodsmen  in  leather  tunics  and 
coon-skin  caps.  Hemming  them  about  were  the 
chapeaux  and  tall  beavers  of  Creoles  and  French, 
the  tinseled  sombreros  of  the  Spanish,  and  here 
and  there,  even  the  feathery  head-dress  of  an  In- 
dian; while  on  every  side,  adding  bright  notes  of 
color,  were  the  gaudy  turbans  of  negroes. 

Looking  over  this  fantastic  drift  of  heads  and 
faces,  Jallot's  eyes  were  held  by  a  file  of  bannerets 
— the  flag-topped  masts  of  the  merchant  fleet, 
moored  at  the  levee — in  silhouette  against  the 
azure  lights  of  the  morning  sky.  He  could  not 
but  mark  the  serenity  of  the  heavens  in  contrast 
with  the  excitement  of  the  crowd  in  the  Place 
d'Armes. 

The  people  gathered  there  were  by  no  means 
certain  what  the  day  might  bring  forth.  It  was 
only  three  weeks  since  the  colony  had  been  a 
province  of  Spain,  and  although  in  the  interim,  it 
had  passed  back  into  the  possession  of  France,  the 
Spanish  were  still  strong  in  numbers  and  in- 
fluence; and  the  word  had  gone  about  that  the 

54 


JALLOT  OVERHEARS  AN  INTRIGUE 

Marquis  of  Casa  Calvo,  once  King  Carlos'  gover- 
nor of  Louisiana  and  now  his  commissioner,  had 
leagued  with  the  foreign  element  of  the  colony  in 
some  form  of  treachery  against  the  incoming  gov- 
ernment. 

In  that  great  throng,  assembled  about  the  plaza, 
there  were  few,  other  than  the  Americans,  who 
would  not  have  applauded  any  outbreak  against 
the  representatives  of  the  young  republic,  which 
was  presently  to  become  the  ruler  of  their  destiny. 

There  was  a  sense  of  nervous  tension  in  the  air 
and  even  Jallot,  who  felt  more  like  a  spectator 
than  an  actor  in  this  national  drama,  started  at  the 
boom  of  a  cannon,  which  announced  the  coming 
of  the  American  troops  from  their  camp  beyond 
the  city.  The  guns  of  Fort  St.  Charles,  firing  a 
salute,  gave  warning  that  the  American  commis- 
sioners, Governor  Claiborne  and  General  Wilkin- 
son, were  passing  through  the  Tchoupitoulas 
Gate.  Their  escort,  a  company  of  troops — im- 
provised for  the  occasion  by  Monsieur  Laussat, 
the  French  Colonial  Prefect — soon  made  its  ap- 
pearance, followed  by  the  American  officials  and 
their  detachments  of  dragoons,  infantry  and  artil- 
lery— a  brilliant  pageant,  but  a  hateful  one  in  the 
eyes  of  the  people  of  Louisiana. 

Their  reception,  as  they  drew  up  along  the  Rue 
St.  Pierre  side  of  the  plaza,  was  not  enthusiastic, 
for  the  Americans  alone  raised  their  voices  to 
cheer.  More  sullen  still  was  the  attitude  of  the 

55 


crowd  when  Governor  Claiborne,  having  presented 
his  credentials  to  Laussat,  and  received  from  him 
the  keys  of  the  city,  appeared  upon  the  balcony  of 
the  Hotel  de  Ville  to  watch  the  descent  of  the 
French  flag  and  the  raising  of  the  banner  of  the 
United  States. 

As  the  colors  of  these  two  nations  met  midway 
on  the  great  flag  staff,  their  silken  folds  touching 
each  other  with  a  caress,  a  single  gun  brayed 
out,  and  then  fort  and  battery,  plaza  and  harbor, 
reverberated  with  answering  salutes.  High  up 
now,  and  flung  valiantly  to  the  breeze,  fluttered 
the  stars  and  stripes;  while  below,  a  guard  of 
honor  received  the  tri-color,  which  never  more 
should  show  its  bars  over  the  colony:  Louisiana 
had  become  a  part  of  the  United  States  of  Amer- 
ica! 

As  the  little  procession,  bearing  the  French 
colors,  with  solemn  tread  passed  through  the 
crowds  to  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  heads  uncovered, 
troops  presented  arms,  and  Jallot,  who  looked 
across  to  the  balcony  of  the  government  house, 
saw  women  wipe  their  eyes. 

Among  the  company  there  he  picked  out  old 
Froebel  and  his  daughter;  Trudeau,  Ottilie  and 
Osbourne;  and  he  fancied  for  a  moment  that  An- 
toinette turned  her  face  to  him,  but  he  could  not. 
be  sure  that  she  recognized  him  across  the  broad 
faqade  of  the  cathedral,  which  lay  between  them. 

The  bright  picture  of  the  Place  d'Armes,  with 

56 


JALLOT  OVERHEARS  AN  INTRIGUE 

its  wonderful  patchwork  of  colors;  the  arms  and 
accoutrements  of  the  soldiery,  flashing  under  the 
sheen  of  the  noonday  sun;  the  murmurings  and 
mutterings  of  the  throngs,  topped  by  the  shouts  of 
the  Americans  and  the  blatant  notes  of  the  bands — 
were  all  lost  to  Jallot.  For  the  moment,  his  gaze 
was  fastened  upon  the  far  horizon,  as  though  he 
sought  to  solve  some  mystery  of  the  great  beyond. 

A  hint  of  future  influence  even  then  lay  in  wait 
for  him  at  the  portal  of  the  monastery.  As  he 
paused  outside  the  gateway,  he  noticed  a  knot  of 
men  crowding  up  in  an  angle  of  the  wall  close  to 
where  he  stood.  The  tail-end  of  a  whispered  ejac- 
ulation caught  his  ear.  The  words  were,  "A  new 
empire !"  Listening  more  attentively,  for  the 
phrase  struck  him  as  significant,  he  heard  one  say, 
"Delicado  has  a  large  force  under  arms  in  Florida." 
Again,  "We  depend  upon  Casa  Calvo."  That  was 
all,  because  they  moved  away  and  were  soon  lost 
in  the  swirl  of  many  people. 

Jallot  wondered  what  the  meaning  of  these  frag- 
ments might  be,  but  presently  dismissed  them 
from  his  mind  as  merely  the  idle  gossip  of  irre- 
sponsible men,  and  went  on  his  way,  thinking  of  a 
rhyme  to  Antoinette. 


CHAPTER  V 

A   GENTLEMAN    IN    MOTLEY 

Jallot  was  much  more  a  man  of  affairs  than  even 
the  exercise  of  his  various  crafts  indicated.  He 
was  sitting  before  a  secretary  in  his  cabinet,  which 
looked  out  upon  the  garden,  and  with  the  as- 
sistance of  Poupet  was  despatching  such  business 
as  had  accumulated  over  the  holiday.  The  morn- 
ing post  had  brought  a  solicitation  from  the  editor 
of  "Le  Moniteur  de  la  Louisiane"  for  a  poem;  a 
demand  from  Rouquette,  the  player,  for  satisfac- 
tion on  account  of  "insulting  remarks;"  a  dainty 
note,  saying  that  the  writer  was  in  the  habit  of 
driving  her  volante  alone  through  the  Tchoupi- 
toulas  Gate  at  sundown  every  day  when  the  streets 
were  passable;  an  application  for  a  loan  from  old 
De  Neville,  who  was  ill  and  in  want;  an  invitation 
from  Osbourne  to  dine  at  The  Pig  and  Whistle;  an 
appreciation  of  his  play  from  a  feminine  pen;  re- 
quests for  appointments  for  dancing  and  fencing 
lessons;  and  a  wealth  of  minor  matters  pertaining 
to  the  administration  of  his  menage. 

"Poupet,  you  have  not  called  upon  Monsieur 
De  Neville,"  exclaimed  Jallot  sharply,  taking  up 
what  he  considered  the  most  urgent  business.  The 

58 


A  GENTLEMAN  IN  MOTLEY 

little  quadroon  hung  his  head.  "Very  well,  I  shall 
go  myself.  You  should  not  have  allowed  me  to 
neglect  him,  unless  you  were  looking  after  him 
yourself.  Fancy  how  it  must  have  hurt  his  pride 
to  make  this  appeal!  How  is  our  exchequer?" 

"We  have  only  got  whad  is  in  you'  wallet, 
Michie.  You  remember  on  Monday  dad  yo'  pay 
de  rend  o'  poor  Madam  Lourent." 

"Then  you  must  go  to  bank  to-day!" 

Poupet  threw  up  his  hands  in  despair.  "Michie," 
he  pleaded,  "why  fo'  yo'  do  dad?  What  de  use 
Ah  go  stick  de  money  in,  if  yo'  always  go  pull  id 
oud?" 

Jallot  laughed.  "You  would  make  a  miser  of 
me,  and  already  I  am  becoming  disgustingly  rich !" 

"Michie,  yo'  got  t'  be  reech  if  yo'  like  to, do 
nottin'  bud  write." 

"Very  well,  Poupet,  this  shall  be  the  last  time 
we  draw  upon  that  account !" 

At  this  Poupet  smiled  unbelievingly  and  handed 
him  Rouquette's  letter.  "Ah  suppose  yo'  got  t' 
kill  dad  actor — hcin?" 

The  barber  tore  the  missive  up.  "No!  I  am 
too  busy ....  I  must  really  do  this  poem  for  Editor 
Allard ....  How  is  my  time  to-day  ?" 

"Id  bein'  Wednesday  dere  iz  sure  to  be  Michie 
Dalcourt,  Capitaine  Girard  and  'Sieur  de  Bou- 
tique; also  posseblee  Michie  Trudeau  to  be  shave." 

"Good!  You  can  attend  to  them  all  save  Mon- 
sieur Trudeau.  That  will  give  me  the  whole 

59 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

morning  for  the  verses.  I  have  no  other  appoint- 
ments." 

"Pardon,  Michie,  yo'  have  one  at  eleven !" 

"Eleven — on  Wednesday?" 

Poupet,  consulting  a  card,  read:  "Mamzelle 
Antoinette  Froebel — dancin'." 

Jallot  laid  down  his  quill.  "Strange !  I  had 
forgotten !"  After  a  moment's  thought,  he  added : 
"Well,  I  shall  have  an  hour  and  a  half  to  myself. 
How  is  my  afternoon?" 

"Mamzelle  Remy  come  fo'  fencin'  at  two.  Den 
yo'  have  an  appoindmend  wid  Pere  Antoine  'boud 
de  plans  fo'  de  orphanage.  At  five,  Michie  Crozat, 
fo'  his  toilette.  Dad  iz  all,  'less  yo'  accept  Michie 
Osbourne's  invite." 

"I  shall  accept — " 

He  was  interrupted  by  a  knock  at  the  court  door 
of  the  atelier.  "They  are  coming  early  to-day.  Go, 
Poupet,  and  see  that  I  am  not  disturbed,  unless  it 
should  be  by  Monsieur  Trudeau." 

Left  alone,  Jallot  picked  up  his  pen  and  resolute- 
ly faced  a  sheet  of  blank  paper;  but  with  all  the 
cudgeling  of  his  brains,  he  could  produce  nothing 
that  satisfied  his  critical  taste.  "It's  clear  that  my 
muse  has  the  sulks,"  he  declared  at  last,  and, 
looking  at  his  watch,  discovered  that  it  was  close 
to  eleven  o'clock. 

After  scrutinizing  his  dress  he  stepped  into  the 
atelier  which  looked  as  though  it  had  emerged 
from  a  toilette  as  fastidious  as  that  of  its  master 

60 


A  GENTLEMAN  IN  MOTLEY 

spirit.  Foils  and  rapiers  glistened  in  their  racks, 
the  sun  came  unmottled  through  the  diamond 
panes  of  the  great  window  and  spread  a  gloss  of 
gold  over  the  polished  floor.  The  incongruities 
of  the  barber  chair  and  accompanying  parapher- 
nalia were  hidden  behind  a  lacquered  screen  at  one 
end  of  the  long  room,  and  at  the  other,  upon  a 
raised  stand,  sat  Poupet,  who,  scarcely  less  versa- 
tile than  Monsieur,  himself,  was  tuning  a  violin. 

He  stopped  the  next  moment  to  answer  a  sum- 
mons to  the  door,  and  admitted  Trudeau.  The 
old  Creole  advanced,  or  rather  waddled,  to  Jallot 
with  a  broad  smile  upon  his  ruddy  face  and  hand 
outstretched.  "Hah,"  he  exclaimed,  pumping  the 
barber's  arm,  "we  have  won!  The  directors  of 
the  theatre  have  agreed  to  give  your  play  another 
hearing  with  Liotau  in  the  jeune  premier's  role." 

''That's  good  news,  Monsieur;  and  I  thank  you 
for  bringing  it  about.  When  does  the  play  go 
on?" 

"Not  for  a  month  or  so;  but  then,  if  it  succeeds, 
as  we  expect,  there  is  no  doubt  that  I  can  secure 
the  presentation  of  your  tragedy.  Can  you  com- 
plete it  by  March?" 

"No  doubt,  Monsieur." 

"Excellent!  Are  you  busy?  I  meant  to  be 
shaved." 

Jallot  consulted  his  watch.  "I  am  sorry,  but  I 
am  expecting  a  pupil.  She  should  be  here  now." 

"Hah!     Very  well!     At  four  then!"    Trudeau 

61 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

wabbled  to  the  door.  As  Jallot  opened  it  for  him, 
he  saw  Antoinette  crossing  the  court  with  Caresse 
at  her  heels. 

The  girl  came  in  with  a  radiant  "Bonjour,  Mon- 
sieur!'' and,  at  the  master's  direction,  passed  into 
the  dressing7room  with  her  bonne.  In  a  few 
moments  she  reappeared  without  her  bonnet,  dis- 
playing a  dainty  coiffure  set  off  with  a  cap  of 
Mechlin  lace,  trimmed  with  ribbons.  Jallot's  ap- 
preciative eyes  at  once  took  note  of  three  poignant 
items,  which  at  that  moment  seemed  to  make  up 
the  sum  of  his  pupil's  charm;  the  patrician  slender- 
ness  of  her  features,  the  distinction  with  which  she 
wore  a  gown  of  pink  silk  embroidered  in  rose- 
knots,  and  her  small  feet  encased  in  black  satin 
slippers  moving  bewitchingly  beneath  the  rufHe 
of  her  skirt. 

Under  the  mesmeric  measure  of  Poupet's  violin, 
the  lesson  began;  and  Mademoiselle  proved  to  be 
an  admirable  pupil.  There  seemed  to  be  a  perfect 
understanding  between  her  head  and  her  feet, 
which  mastered  the  strange  steps  as  though 
directed  by  the  very  spirit  of  Terpsichore.  There 
was  grace  and  witchery  in  her  simplest  movement, 
whether  she  followed  the  master's  instructions  or 
not;  and  he  thought  how  she  excelled — in  ele- 
gance, amiability  and  intelligence — the  Creoles  he 
taught. 

Their  conversation  was  all  in  the  way  of  the 
art  to  which  they  were  now  devotees.  Her  sweet 

62 


voice  lent  a  charm  to  the  most  commonplace 
phrase;  and,  whenever  he  stopped  to  explain  some 
intricate  step,  the  lively  interest  which  shown  in 
her  dark  eyes  fascinated  him. 

"How  is  that,  Monsieur?"  she  would  inquire, 
finishing  a  movement,  which,  though  graceful,  was 
not  in  the  least  like  the  step  he  was  teaching  her. 
Then  he  would  smile  a  little  and  reply : 

"Very  pretty!  but,  if  Mademoiselle  will  permit 
me,  I  will  call  her  attention  to  the  fact  that  the 
position  is — so !"  and  Jallot  would  illustrate.  Once 
he  could  not  restrain  a  little  laugh  of  chagrin,  and, 
looking  up,  caught  a  flash  of  anger  in  Antoinette's 
eyes. 

"Mademoiselle,"  he  hastened  to  explain,  "I 
was  merely  laughing  at  myself,  for  the  step  which 
you  improvised  is  far  more  graceful  than  mine." 

He  became  so  interested  in  his  task  that  the 
hour  fairly  winged  its  flight,  and  it  was  long 
beyond  the  lesson's  allotted  time  when  Poupet, 
whose  arms  ached  with  fiddling,  at  last  ventured 
to  mutter:  "Michie,  id  is  afder  twelve  o'clock." 

"I  apologize,  Mademoiselle,"  said  Jallot;  "but 
I  lost  count  of  time  in  the  pleasure  of  instruction — 
you  learn  so  readily !" 

She  made  him  a  courtesy  to  acknowledge  the 
compliment  and  thanked  him  for  his  patience. 
Thereafter  she  came  regularly  to  the  atelier,  and, 
in  the  next  two  weeks,  master  and  pupil  became 
so  happily  acquainted  that,  at  the  conclusion  of  her 

63 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

lesson,  Antoinette  often  stopped  to  rest  at  the 
window-seat,  where  they  would  converse  together 
like  friends. 

They  were  not  friends;  they  were  merely  friendly. 
The  girl,  though  all  graciousness  and  interest, 
possessed  an  unconscious  imperious  air,  which 
gave  Jallot  the  impression  that  she  was  perhaps 
patronizing  him.  For  his  part,  being  naturally 
reserved  about  all  that  concerned  him  intimately, 
he  withheld  from  her  those  confidences  that  make 
for  friendship.  Still,  he  had  grown  to  look  for  her 
coming,  and  when  she  came  it  mattered  not  how 
his  many  interests  pressed  for  attention,  he  was 
glad  to  have  her  stay  for  the  gossip  which  had 
tacitly  become  a  part  of  her  tuition. 

A  month  after  Antoinette's  first  visit  to  the 
atelier,  Ottilie,  whom  she  now  looked  upon  as  her 
dearest  companion,  questioned  her,  saying:  "Tell 
me,  do  you  find  that  you  are  making  satisfactory 
progress  in  your  dancing?" 

"Oh,  yes!  I  have  learned  the  most  fascinating 
steps,"  she  declared  with  enthusiasm.  "Monsieur 
Jallot  is  a  master." 

"And  what  do  you  think  of  him?" 

They  were  seated  close  together  on  a  divan  in 
Antoinette's  boudoir,  where  they  had  been  talking 
the  afternoon  through.  A  pearly  light  invaded 
the  room.  The  day  was  growing  dim  across  the 
open  balcony. 

"He  is  a  mystery  to  me,"  Antoinette  answered. 

64 


A  GENTLEMAN  IN  MOTLEY 

"But  such  an  interesting  mystery!" 

"Ah,  cherie,  all  mysteries  are  interesting.  This 
one  is  particularly  so.  Here  is  a  man — possessed 
of  many  talents,  and,  for  aught  I  know,  genius — 
who  is  at  the  same  time  a  barber!  Why?" 

"Papa  says  it  is  stubbornness.  He  offered  to — 
I  think  he  called  it  'finance' — yes! — to  finance 
Monsieur  Jallot  so  that  he  might  give  up  his  shop 
and  devote  himself  to  literature." 

Antoinette  smiled.  "I  should  not  call  that 
stubbornness;  I  should  say  it  was  pride,  and  I 
admire  Monsieur  all  the  more  for  that.  It  is  what 
I  should  have  thought  of  him." 

After  a  moment's  pondering,  Ottilie  exclaimed, 
"How  handsome  he  is !" 

"Do  not  let  Monsieur  Lemaitre  hear  you  say 
that,"  teased  her  confidante. 

"No,  I  would  not  dare  say  that  of  anyone  before 
Etienne;  but  I  repeat  to  you  that  Monsieur  Jallot 
is  handsome." 

Antoinette  shook  her  head.  "You  only  think 
so  because  his  features  are  fairly  regular;  his 
gray  eyes,  amiable;  his  voice,  pleasant;  his  man- 
ner, noble;  and  his  dress,  correct." 

"Colon  mail"  retorted  Ottilie,  "is  not  that 
enough  to  make  a  man  handsome?" 

"No,  cherie,  only  enough  to  make  him  attrac- 
tive." 

The  Creole  girl  clasped  her  hands  with  great 

6s 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

satisfaction,  thinking  she  had  won  her  point. 
''Then  you  agree  that  he  is  attractive?" 

"I  agree  to  that,  yet  he  is  not  attractive  to  me 
for  the  reasons  I  have  mentioned.  What  interests 
me  in  Monsieur  Jallot  is  his  hands.  I  study  peo- 
ple's hands  when  I  wish  to  know  what  they  are 
like,"  said  Antoinette,  holding  her  own  delicate 
ones  up  to  the  light  and  looking  at  them  through 
half-closed  eyes. 

Ottilie,  with  a  little  grimace,  stretched  wide  her 
fingers  as  though  for  inspection. 

"They  are  all  impulse  and  tenderness,"  observed 
Antoinette,  taking  them  affectionately.  Her  com- 
panion dimpled  with  pleasure  and  embraced  her. 
"It  seems  to  me,"  she  continued,  "that  the  gestures 
and  shape  of  the  hands  are  of  great  importance  as 
an  index  of  character." 

"How  is  that?" 

"Consider,  my  dear,  that  the  hands  greet  us  and 
dismiss  us;  that  they  show  our  irritation  or 
pleasure  in  some  tell-tale  action;  that  in  anger, 
they  strike;  that  in  affection,  they  caress!  The 
truth  is  that  they  reveal  more  soul  than  any  part 
of  us,  save  only  the  eyes.  .  .  .  Now  Monsieur  Jal- 
lot's  hands  make  him  attractive.  They  are  thin 
and  long,  delicate  yet  strong.  They  seem  to  be- 
long to  the  old  world.  I  have  seen  hands  like  his, 
but  only  in  the  pictures  of  dead  masters.  They 
insinuate  something  indescribable — oh,  I  cannot 
tell  you  what !  They  give  to  his  most  casual 

66 


A  GENTLEMAN  IN  MOTLEY 

phrase  an  eloquent,  magic  revelation  of  a  mind 
concealing  merits  and  depths  of  thought  which  his 
lips  have  not  the  inclination  or  the  power  to  con- 
fide. I  fancy  his  hands  would  be  as  terrible  in  the 
ecstasies  of  anger,  as  they  are  lively  in  amiable 
amusement;  and  how  persuasive  they  could  be 
when  he  had  a  cause  to  plead !" 

"I  love  you  when  you  are  enthusiastic,  like  that, 
exclaimed  Ottilie,  embracing  her  again.  "If  I 
were  a  man  I  would  borrow  Monsieur  Jallot's 
hands  and  beseech  you  to  torment  me  for  the  rest 
of  my  life." 

"If  you  were  a  man  and  a  trifle  taller — for  my 
beau  must  be  a  good  height — I  should  yield  to 
you  had  you  no  hands  at  all,  cherie!" 

"Coton  mai!"  gaily  ejaculated  Ottilie,  who  de- 
lighted in  that  innocent  oath;  "suppose  Monsieur 
Jallot,  himself,  should  plead  his  own  cause  to 
you?" 

Antoinette's  eyes  lighted  with  a  flash  of  resent- 
ment at  this  suggestion,  but  she  quickly  realized 
that  her  companion  meant  no  affront  and  spoke 
only  in  lightness  of  heart.  Indignation  passed  from 
her  and  she  replied,  with  studied  coolness,  "Mon- 
sieur Jallot  is  a  barber !" 


CHAPTER  VI 

SPRING— THE  INSURGENT! 

The  orchestra  of  nature  had  played  the  dead 
march  of  the  year  and  now  essayed  the  greatest 
passage  in  its  score — the  thrilling  symphony  of 
spring.  The  visual  harmonies  of  pearly  even- 
ings changed  to  the  melodies  of  violet  dusks,  and 
these  warming,  vibrant  tones  set  a-tingle  the  blood 
of  Jallot,  the  barber.  Never  did  ambition's  brave 
anthem  call  to  him  so  compellingly  as  in  those 
April  days.  How  his  patience  and  philosophy 
were  taxed  then  to  endure  the  necessary  hum- 
drum of  his  atelier!  It  wore  upon  him  until  at 
last  he  decided  that  he  must  secure  relief  from  its 
maddening  drone. 

To  this  end  he  gave  over  to  Poupet  those  pa- 
trons and  pupils  who  did  not  insist  upon  his  per- 
sonal service.  Thus  he  managed  to  steal  fresh 
hours  in  which  to  court  his  muse,  his  liberator. 

Some  encouragement  was  vouchsafed  him,  for 
"The  Gateway  of  Dreams"  had  been  revived  at 
the  Theatre  Saint  Pierre,  where  its  second  playing 
brought  critical  endorsement  if  not  popular  ac- 
claim. This  moderate  success  insured  the  pro- 

68 


SPRING— THE  INSURGENT! 

duction  of  a  tragedy  upon  which  he  now  wished 
to  bend  his  energies,  and  it  was  the  lack  of  time 
to  undertake  this  congenial  task  that  made  him 
fret  and  grow  to  hate  the  crafts  he  practiced  in 
his  shop. 

Of  all  the  hours,  which  the  traffic  of  his  atelier 
demanded  in  a  week,  only  three  brought  him  real 
recompense.  These,  the  hours  of  Antoinette's  in- 
struction, had  almost  become  necessary  to  him; 
certainly  they  were  a  source  of  inspiration  and  hap- 
piness. The  acquaintance  of  master  and  pupil  had 
flowered  into  a  friendship,  and  with  that,  came  a 
freedom  in  the  exchange  of  thoughts,  a  ventur- 
ing into  the  bourne  of  the  intimate  without  fear 
of  trespassing.  They  were  standing,  then,  on  the 
threshold  of  confidence. 

Jallot  came  from  these  hours  refreshed,  even 
with  a  sense  of  exaltation,  at  times,  which  left  him 
all  the  more  restless,  all  the  more  impatient,  all 
the  more  dissatisfied  with  his  condition,  yet  hope- 
ful of  the  future. 

The  spring  brought,  as  well,  a  revival  of  un- 
rest and  discontent  to  a  certain  clique  in  New 
Orleans,  composed  less  of  Creoles  than  of  men  of 
foreign  birth.  There  were  murmurings  of  in- 
trigues against  the  new  government;  and  Jallot, 
often  hearing  them,  was  reminded  of  the  words 
which  had  challenged  his  attention  that  Decem- 
ber morning  at  the  Place  d'Armes. 

This  feeling  found  expression  in  the  attitude 

69 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

of  the  citizens  toward  the  Americans:  a  bearing 
of  contempt  and  even  of  hate.  The  atelier  had 
witnessed  many  disputes,  for  the  new  government 
found  partisans  even  among  some  of  the  oldest 
habitues. 

A  belligerent  champion  of  the  United  States 
and  its  policy  toward  Louisiana,  was  Ludwig 
Froebel.  One  morning,  while  suffering  his  daily 
shave  at  the  hands  of  Poupet — who  kept  him  in 
constant  fear  by  dancing  about  the  chair  and  flour- 
ishing a  razor  to  the  tune  of  the  Marseillaise — 
he  fell  into  a  controversy  with  Lemaitre  and  Ville- 
bois  over  this  very  question. 

Disgusted  with  the  old  German's  stubbornness, 
they  turned  from  him  to  engage  in  a  bout  with  the 
foils,  as  Lemaitre  wished  to  demonstrate  to  Ville- 
bois  the  superiority  of  the  thrust  of  his  master, 
Planton,  to  that  of  Jallot. 

"There !"  exclaimed  Lemaitre,  with  great  sat- 
isfaction, touching  Villebois;  "that  is  the  method 
of  Planton!" 

"Oh,  f-fah !"  returned  his  opponent,  with  a  pre- 
paratory flourish  of  his  foil,  "that  was  an  acci- 
dent. You  will  not  be  able  to  touch  me  again; 
and  you  shall  see  that  I  am  able  to  pass  your 
guard." 

Lemaitre  parried  the  lunge  easily  and  taunted 
Villebois  by  remarking,  "I  tell  you,  you  really 
sKoulcl  study  with  Planton.  He  can  teach  you 
more  in  one  morning  than  Jallot  can  in  a  month." 

70 


SPRING— THE  INSURGENT! 

"That's  the  very  reason  why  I  prefer  Jallot. 
The  little  that  I  learn  of  him  in  a  month  is  so  much 
better  than  what  you  learn  of  Planton  in  a  morn- 
ing. It  takes  time  to  master  the  fine  play  of 
wrist  which  my  tutor  insists  upon." 

Lemaitre  touched  Villebois  again,  and  mocked 
him.  "Jallot's  method  cannot  compare  with  Plan- 
ton's.  I  prove  it!" 

This  was  more  than  Poupet  could  endure  and 
still  hold  his  tongue,  for,  to  him,  Jallot  was  the  best 
swordsman,  the  greatest  artist,  the  noblest  gentle- 
man in  all  the  world;  and  to  question  his  master's 
ability  was  sufficient  to  arouse  the  quadroon's 
anger. 

"What  is  dad?"  he  cried,  his  patois  thickening 
with  his  spleen.  "Oh,  Ah  show  yo',  Michie  Le- 
maitre !"  He  put  down  his  razor,  with  an  apology 
to  Froebel,  and,  taking  the  foil  from  Villebois, 
assumed  an  attitude  of  attack.  "V 'oyons!"  he 
challenged  Lemaitre.  "Dad  thrusd  o'  'Sieur  Jal- 
lot, Ah  show  yo'  now — ad  once!  En  garde, 
Michie !" 

The  Creole,  with  a  smile  of  confidence,  engaged 
Poupet,  but  much  to  his  surprise  he  found  a  foil 
which  flashed  about  his  with  bewildering  swift- 
ness and  finished  him  off  with  a  lunge  in  tierce, 
while  his  steel  went  whirling  across  the  atelier. 

"La,  la!"  laughed  the  little  quadroon.  "Dad 
was  de  thrusd  o'  Jallot,  whad  Michie  Villebois  say 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

waz  preddy  near  as  good  as  dad  o'  Planton — • 
fain?" 

Villebois,  delighted  at  the  discomfiture  of  Le- 
maitre,  grinned  his  approval  and  patted  Poupet 
on  the  shoulder.  "Well  done,  boy,"  he  said,  and 
added,  with  a  jeer  at  his  companion,  "What  do 
you  think  of  that  thrust?" 

"A  fluke !"  exclaimed  Lemaitre,  peevishly 
snatching  the  foil  which  Poupet  recovered  for 
him.  "You  can't  disarm  me  again!" 

"Hah,  daz  whad  Ah  goin'  do,"  chuckled  the 
youth,  flourishing  his  foil;  but  before  he  could  be- 
gin, Froebel  half  lathered,  sat  up  protestingly  in 
his  chair. 

"Ach,  Gott!"  he  ejaculated.  "What  do  you 
think,  Poupet,  that  I  shall  forever  sit  while  you 
to  those  jacknapes  give  fencing  lessons?" 

At  this  Villebois  only  leered,  but  Lemaitre, 
growing  angry,  threatened  him  with  his  fist,  bark- 
ing, "Pig  of  an  American !" 

The  controversy  was  renewed  where  they  had 
left  off.  "Pig!"  gasped  Froebel.  "I  am  it  not! 
American?  fa,  danke  Gott!  The  first  an  insult 
'is,  but  that  I  let  pass  on  account  of  the  second, 
which  is  a  compliment." 

This  brought  forth  the  ridicule  of  Villebois,  who 
bowed  low,  and  puckering  up  his  leathern-like  lips, 
said,  "A  compliment !  Ah!  Fancy!" 

Poupet,  sighing,  returned  the  foil  to  the  tall 
Creole,  and  busied  himself  stropping1  his  razor, 

72 


SPRING— THE  INSURGENT! 

while  he  whistled  "Yankee  Doodle  Dandy."  That 
tune,  although  it  may  have  been  calculated  to 
soothe  the  temper  of  his  customer,  had  no  such 
effect.  The  old  German  was  aroused.  He  meant 
that  those  flippant  Creoles  should  feel  the  sharp 
edge  of  his  sarcasm. 

"/a,  it  a  compliment  is,"  he  went  on;  "but  you, 
Herr  Villebois — and  you,  Herr  Lemaitre — are  too 
dumb  to  understand;  and  though  you  be  Ameri- 
cans— that  name  is  for  you  too  good." 

"A  Lemaitre,  an  American !"  vociferated  the 
Creole  in  deep  disgust,  pounding  his  chest  by  way 
of  emphasis. 

Froebel,  with  a  sweep  of  his  arm,  brushed  Pou- 
pet  aside  as  if  he  were  a  fly.  "That  is  one  great 
shame  for  the  United  States,  but  it  is  so,"  he 
insisted. 

"Yes,"  put  in  the  quadroon,  "evvabody  godd  t' 
be  Americane  now!" 

Villebois  walked  up  close  to  the  barber  chair, 
and,  snapping  his  fingers  in  the  German's  face, 
drawled,  "Your  damned  United  States  have 
bought  Louisiana,  but  they  cannot  turn  a  Creole 
gentleman  into  a  Yankee  barbarian." 

"No,"  supplemented  Lemaitre,  quickly;  "we 
Creoles  will  never  obey  your  barbarous  laws !" 

"Ach  Himmel!  You  do  not  know  what  is  good 
for  you!"  As  the  German  made  this  dogmatic 
assertion,  Poupet  caught  him  by  the  chin  and  ap- 
plied the  lather  with  vigor. 

73 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

"Good?"  echoed  Lemaitre,  with  heat;  "it's 
tyrannous!  We  can  no  longer  import  slaves! 
Presently  we  shall  be  obliged  to  work !" 

"A  calamity  worse  than  the  anti-smuggling 
laws,"  groaned  Villebois.  "Morblcu!  Your  new 
government,  Herr  Froebel,  insists  that  we  pay 
duty  on  a  piece  of  silk,  a  bottle  of  Madeira." 

Poupet  rendered  a  reply  as  difficult  as  possible 
by  holding  the  nose  of  the  German  between  his 
fingers,  and  flourishing  the  razor  over  his  victim's 
jowls.  Nevertheless,  Froebel  succeeded  in  re- 
torting in  nasal  accents,  "All  that  is  most  excel- 
lent !  Governor  Claiborne  knows  better  than  you 
what  he  himself  is  about." 

"If  he  succeeds  in  compelling  you  to  speak  Eng- 
lish in  the  place  of  your  bad  French,  I  shall  for- 
give him  a  great  deal."  Villebois  was  indirectly 
referring  to  the  introduction  of  the  English 
tongue  in  the  courts,  a  measure  bitterly  opposed 
by  the  Creoles. 

"That  would  be  even  to  my  taste  as  much  as  the 
act  which  makes  of  Louisiana  two  parts!"  Froe- 
bel for  a  fact  cared  little  enough  about  this  ex- 
pedient of  Congress.  His  only  desire  was  to  pro- 
voke the  Creoles.  "Also  it  is  good  that  the 
Americans  are  put  into  the  public  office  and  not 
you,  who  are  so  lazy  as  crocodiles." 

This  was  a  policy  exceedingly  distasteful  to 
the  citizens,  and  to  Lemaitre  in  particular,  who 
had  conceived  a  hatred  for  Osbourne,  whose  ap- 

74 


SPRING— THE  INSURGENT! 

pointment  as  Sheriff  of  the  province  had  been  an- 
nounced but  a  few  days  before.  Already  the 
American  had  made  himself  and  his  authority  felt 
by  ordering  out  bayonets  to  put  down  a  riot  in 
a  gambling  house  on  the  Rue  Royale,  and  sup- 
pressing in  person  a  duel  in  which  the  Creole  took 
part  as  a  second. 

"Tell  me  this,"  demanded  Lemaitre,  "what  are 
we  coming  to  when  an  American,  in  outrageous 
clothes  and  a  gun  in  hand,  breaks  in  upon  an  affair 
of  honor?" 

Poupet  dared  to  venture  the  remark  that  such  a 
thing  was  very  bad  conduct.  He  was  immediately 
hushed  by  Froebel,  who  thrusting  the  quadroon 
from  him,  and  bobbing  up  in  the  chair,  exclaimed, 
"Mein  Gott!  You  object  because  the  government 
will  not  let  you  each  other  kill !  For  my  part  I 
wish  they  would  make  a  law  compelling  you,  your- 
selves, into  sausages  to  cut." 

"Uh !"  grimaced  Villebois.  "A  sausage !  I 
should  much  prefer  being  turned  into  a  pattie. 
And,  by  the  way,  Moreau  of  the  Tivoli  makes  them 
up  wonderfully." 

Lemaitre  returned  to  the  attack  with  vehe- 
mence. "We  don't  propose  to  be  treated  as 
naughty  children,  Monsieur.  It's  intolerable !" 

Again  Froebel  struggled  oulrof  Poupet's  grasp 
to  asseverate,  "All  that  you  ^peak  as  being  ill  is 
good,  very  good.  You  are  too  dumb  to  see.  You 
should  be  glad  to  have  been  purchased  by  so  sen- 

75 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

sible  a  government  as  the  United  States  is.  They 
will  to  your  lawlessness  a  stop  put,  and,  in  spite 
of  you,  a  godly  and  prosperous  land  of  Louisiana 
make." 

"Do  not  think  that  we  shall  submit  to  this  new 
government  tamely,"  stormed  Lemaitre. 

The  German  was  quick  with  his  retort:  "You 
will  have  to  submit;  if  not  tamely,  then  tamed  you 
shall  be." 

Villebois,  by  this  time  weary  of  the  quibbling, 
and  thinking  of  the  luncheon  awaiting  them  at  the 
Tivoli,  urged  Lemaitre  to  drop  the  subject  and 
come  away.  The  young  Creole  agreed,  but,  as  he 
wriggled  into  his  coat,  he  administered  this  part- 
ing shot :  "It  is  such  as  you,  you  German  caniche, 
who  make  this  new  government  so  arrogant." 

Froebel  had  no  intention  of  giving  them  the 
last  word.  As  they  were  leaving  the  atelier  he 
shouted,  "/a,  and  all  the  good  Creoles  are  just 
like  me !  Danke  Gott  there  are  not  many  like 
as  you  are.  It  is  not  the  great  mass  of  intelligent 
Creoles — oh,  no! — but  the  bad  Frenchmen  and 
the  yellow  Spaniards  and  other  foreign  scums, 
who  object  to  the  United  States  government." 

Lemaitre  was  about  to  turn  back,  but  Villebois 
caught  his  arm  and  drew  him  through  the  door, 
saying,  "Come,  let  the  old  bear  sizzle." 

Perfectly  satisfied  that  he  had  got  the  best  of 
them,  Froebel  lay  back  in  his  chair,  and  said  to 
Poupet,  "Now  you  put  a  quick  finish  to  my  face." 

76 


CHAPTER  VII 

DEBTS  HAVE  LONG  MEMORIES 

His  toilette  completed,  Ludwig  Froebel,  with 
an  energetic  step,  which  still  betrayed  his  old  age, 
stumped  down  the  Rue  du  Maine,  turned  along 
the  quay,  and  finally  came  to  a  stop  near  the  Rue 
Conti.  He  paused  there  for  a  time,  looking 
mournfully  over  the  shipping  moored  at  the  broad 
levee,  which  was  reared  high  above  the  street  in 
order  to  defend  the  city  from  the  encroachment 
of  the  rushing  Mississippi. 

In  all  that  little  fleet  of  merchantmen  not 
one  familiar  masthead  met  his  eye.  American, 
French,  Spanish  and  English  flags  fluttered  in  the 
lazy  breeze,  but  none  was  his;  and  the  "Faderland," 
which  bore  the  remnant  of  his  ill-kept  fortune, 
was  then  a  month  or  more  overdue.  If  she  did 
not  make  port  it  meant  that  he  must  score  down 
the  third  ship  lost  within  a  year. 

The  quay — lively  with  its  traffic:  the  trundling 
of  bales  and  hogsheads,  the  creak  of  tackle,  the 
shouts  of  stevedores  and  crews,  the  bustling  of 
merchants  and  their  clerks — gave  no  heed  to  the 
drooping  figure  of  Froebel,  who  stood  leaning  on 

77 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

his  cane,  looking  away  down  the  river  but  seeing 
nothing  through  the  mist  in  his  eyes. 

"Thank  heaven,"  he  soliloquized,  "that  I  did  not 
venture  a  fourth;  that  there  is  yet  enough  in  bank 
to  keep  us  well  provided  against  my  years,  and 
leave  a  tidy  portion  for  Antoinette." 

With  that,  he  walked  on  until  he  came  to  a  crazy 
row  of  wooden  warehouses.  Over  their  doorways 
hung  scarcely  legible  signs  announcing  the  names 
of  their  owners,  and  one  of  these  bore  the  legend, 
"L.  Froebel — Shipmerchant."  He  pushed  open 
the  dingy  door,  and  making  his  way  through  the 
darkened  and  empty  wareroom  to  the  rear, 
entered  a  partitioned  space  which  he  called  his 
office.  Its  sole  occupant  was  a  clerk,  an  old  Ger- 
man, sound  asleep  over  a  ledger. 

"Heinrich !"  exclaimed  Froebel,  rousing  the 
man  with  a  gentle  shake.  "Wake  up!  I  want 
you  to  go  down  to  the  custom-house  and  learn 
whether  they  have  word  of  the  'Faderland.' ' 

The  clerk  got  to  his  feet  and  put  on  a  much  bat- 
tered beaver  with  a  weary  air  of  protest.  "Mein 
Herr"  said  he,  shuffling  to  the  door,  "I  have  asked 
that  same  thing  every  morning  now  for  five  weeks. 
It  is  no  use.  The  ship  is  lost."  He  went  out 
shaking  his  head. 

For  a  long  time  Froebel  sat  pondering.  Sud- 
denly he  was  startled  by  a  sharp  rap,  and,  looking 
up,  saw  a  stranger  standing  on  the  threshold. 
The  man  lifted  his  chapeau  and  bowed  smilingly. 

78 


DEBTS  HAVE  LONG  MEMORIES 

"Sefior  Froebel,  do  you  not  recognize  me?"  he 
asked,  speaking  French  with  the  merest  sugges- 
tion of  a  foreign  accent. 

The  merchant  stared  at  his  visitor  with  a  puz- 
zled expression.  There  was  something  familiar 
to  him  in  those  Castilian  features,  and  the  indo- 
lent poise  of  that  well-knit  figure;  yet  his  mind 
lagged  in  remembrance. 

"I  am  Luiz  Delicado,"  announced  the  stranger 
quietly,  looking  at  Froebel  with  a  pair  of  amiable 
blue  eyes.  The  corners  of  his  mouth  turned  up 
in  an  expression  of  amusement  as  he  noted  the 
consternation  his  words  produced. 

The  old  man,  who  had  been  leaning  forward, 
turned  pale  as  a  magnolia,  and  slowly  sank  back 
in  his  chair,  his  lips  quivering  and  his  hands  open- 
ing and  closing  spasmodically.  At  last  he 
groaned,  "I — I  thought  you — dead !" 

"Naturally,"  returned  the  Spaniard,  "but  you 
see  I  am  enjoying  excellent  health."  His  appear- 
ance did  not  belie  his  statement.  The  native  olive 
coloring  of  his  skin  was  ruddied  over  as  though 
by  long  exposure  to  the  elements.  Yet  he  had 
the  look  of  a  man  who  would  be  as  much  at  ease 
in  court  as  in  camp.  The  days  of  his  youth  were 
past,  as  the  gray  patches  at  his  temple  testified, 
but  he  was  evidently  enjoying  the  prime  of  man- 
hood to  its  full  span. 

"I — thought  you — dead!"  Froebel  repeated,  as 
though  it  were  beyond  belief  that  his  visitor  should 

79 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

be  among  the  living. 

The  Spaniard  laid  his  sword  cane  and  chapeau 
upon  the  table,  and  took  a  seat  opposite  the  mer- 
chant, saying,  "And  I  feared  you  might  be." 
Again  the  amiable  smile  and  the  gleam  of  white 
teeth.  "I  congratulate  you  upon  your  good 
health."  He  waited  then,  as  though  to  give  his 
vis-a-vis  the  opportunity  to  speak,  but  the  old  man 
simply  kept  on  murmuring,  "I  thought  you  dead !" 

"I  believe  that  there  is  a  little  matter  of  busi- 
ness between  us,  Seiior,"  resumed  Delicado;  "you 
will  remember  that  twelve  years  ago  I  left  my 
estate  in  trust  with  you.  I  presume  it  has  pros- 
pered under  your  management?" 

"Y-y-e-s !"  faltered  Froebel. 

"I  am  come  to  relieve  you  of  it!" 

The  merchant  coughed  nervously.  "I  shall 
most  happy  be  to  give  you  an  accounting." 

"At  your  earliest  convenience,  if  you  please, 
Senor,"  said  the  Spaniard,  picking  up  his  hat  and 
cane. 

"It  will  take  some  time,"  ventured  the  Ger- 
man. 

"I  remarked  'at  your  convenience,'  "  rejoined 
the  other.  "Whenever  you  are  ready,  send  word 
to  my  lodgings,  No.  n  Rue  Bienville."  He  shook 
the  trembling  hand  of  his  trustee,  and  went  out. 

When  Heinrich  returned  he  discovered  the  old 
German  still  seated  where  Delicado  had  left  him, 
his  head  in  his  hands.  He  did  not  look  up  until 

80 


DEBTS  HAVE  LONG  MEMORIES 

the  clerk  spoke. 

"Just  as  I  thought,  mem  Herr,"  said  Heinrich; 
"there  is  no  news  of  the  'Faderland.' ' 

Froebel  heaved  a  sigh  and  shook  his  head.  "I 
am  bankrupt,"  he  timorously  announced. 

"It  is  not  so  bad  as  that,  mein  Herr.  If  you 
wish,  you  can  liquidate  your  affairs  and  retire  with 
a  fair  income  from  your  real  estate." 

"That  is  what  I  thought  this  morning;  but  I 
never  expected  then  that  Luiz  Delicado  would 
walk  into  my  office  and  demand  a  settlement." 

The  clerk  was  almost  as  astonished  at  this  state- 
ment as  his  employer  had  been  at  the  appearance 
of  the  Spaniard.  He  would  not  credit  it  at  first, 
as  he  had  shared  with  Froebel  the  belief  that  Deli- 
cado was  dead;  but  when  he  was  convinced  that 
there  was  no  mistake,  he  wrung  his  hands  in  dis- 
may. 

The  fact  of  the  matter  was  that  in  the  year  1 792 
Delicado,  who  was  a  restless,  adventurous  spirit, 
fell  heir  to  a  valuable  plantation;  but  soon  tiring 
of  a  planter's  life,  he  went  voyaging,  after  select- 
ing Froebel  as  one  to  be  trusted  with  his  property. 
Where  he  had  been,  or  what  he  had  done  in  that 
long  interim  between  his  going  and  his  return, 
no  one  knew,  save  that  he  had  come  to  New  Or- 
leans from  the  Spanish  colony  in  Florida. 

For  almost  a  decade  succeeding  his  departure, 
Froebel  had  religiously  managed  the  Spaniard's 
estate  and  banked  its  revenue,  pending  his  client's 

81 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

return,  although  in  all  that  time  he  had  no  word 
of  the  wanderer.  But  when  ten  years  had  passed, 
and  still  no  claim  was  presented  against  the  trust, 
the  German,  greatly  in  need  of  funds  to  repair  a 
long  series  of  ill  fortunes,  appropriated  to  his  use 
the  funds  accumulated  in  the  name  of  Delicado, 
and  under  further  stress,  had  gone  so  far  as  to 
dispose  of  the  Spaniard's  slaves  and  mortgage  his 
plantation. 

Froebel  carried  out  these  transactions  with  no 
thought  of  fraud,  for  he  was  at  heart  a  thoroughly 
honest  man.  He  had  no  doubt  that  the  Spaniard 
was  dead,  and  long  administration  of  the  estate 
had  taught  him  to  look  upon  it  as  his  own.  The 
risks  he  took  were  common  to  the  trade,  and  while 
they  were  great,  the  profits,  too,  were  large.  So, 
had  anything  short  of  continuous  ill  luck  been 
his  measure,  he  must  have  reaped  sufficient  gain 
to  triple  Delicado's  fortune  and  his  own. 

The  sea  had  exacted  heavy  toll  of  him;  and  now, 
to  cap  his  misery,  this  Spaniard  must  return  from 
out  the  tomb  of  time,  to  claim  his  last  picayune. 
That  was  what  it  meant  to  settle  Delicado's  long- 
standing account.  Froebel's  savings,  warehouse, 
stores  and  villas  must  go.  He  was  ruined;  and 
when  that  was  known,  as  known  it  must  be,  who, 
he  thought,  would  make  his  credit  good? 

He  had  asked  for  time  and  been  given  it,  but, 
at  best,  he  might  delay  the  reckoning  no  more 
than  a  week  or  two.  Still,  in  the  interval,  he 

82 


DEBTS  HAVE  LONG  MEMORIES 

thought  that  he  might  find  the  means  to  mend  his 
broken  fortune;  or  at  least  provide  enough  to  save 
Antoinette  the  pain  of  poverty. 

He  considered  for  a  moment  the  advisability  of 
rendering  Delicado  a  falsified  account  in  order 
that  he  might  set  aside  a  sum  which  would  insure 
the  girl's  future  comfort;  but  he  could  not  bring 
himself  to  that,  and  though  she  must  suffer,  too, 
he  knew  that  he  could  do  no  less  than  pay  his 
obligations  in  full. 

After  coming  to  this  decision,  his  drooping 
spirits  revived  somewhat,  and  he  resolved  that, 
until  he  had  exhausted  every  means  to  recoup  his 
losses,  he  would  keep  his  own  counsel,  even  from 
Antoinette;  and  so  he  instructed  his  clerk,  who  set 
about  the  computation  of  his  master's  debt  to 
Delicado. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

"AN    EXCELLENT    SHOP    IN    WHICH    TO    GET    YOUR 
THROAT  CUT" 

Delicado  left  the  office  of  Froebel,  and  strolled 
along  the  levee,  humming  a  chanson.  He  looked 
about  with  interest,  and,  since  he  had  not  set  foot 
in  Louisiana  for  ten  years,  the  whole  city  seemed 
new  to  him.  The  great  fire  of  1794  had  burned 
out  the  heart  of  New  Orleans,  and  the  people, 
profiting  by  the  lesson  which  that  catastrophe  had 
taught,  built  no  more  with  shingle  and  thatch,  but 
put  up  houses  of  adobe,  stucco  and  brick,  and 
roofed  them  over  with  slate  and  tile. 

Having  some  time  on  his  hands,  Delicado 
turned  from  the  embankment  at  the  Rue  St.  Pierre 
to  watch  for  a  while  the  promenaders  about  the 
Place  d'Armes.  Presently,  with  a  satirical  smile 
at  the  American  flag,  he  wandered  across  the  town 
to  the  Rue  St.  Louis,  which  seemed  to  him  much 
like  a  Parisian  boulevard,  save  for  the  muddy 
banquette  and  the  slippery  stepping  stones.  Mov- 
ing on  to  the  Rue  Conti,  he  found  a  veritable  con- 
gress of  nations.  Almost  every  house  possessed 
a  distinct  characteristic.  On  one  side  was  the 
shop  of  a  Swiss  clockmaker,  his  window  showing 

84 


"AN  EXCELLENT  SHOP" 

a  bit  of  his  handiwork — a  disk  upon  which  little 
wooden  men  and  women  performed  an  endless 
quadrille.  On  the  other  side,  a  French  tailor,  in 
skull  cap,  sat  cross-legged  as  he  plied  his  needle. 
Here  was  a  Spanish  cobbler;  there  a  Jew  peddler; 
next  a  Dutch  knife  grinder;  then  a  German  baker; 
a  sailors'  lodging  house,  and  a  Creole  restaurant, 
famous  for  its  gumbo — all  huddled  together  in  a 
thoroughly  friendly  fashion. 

By  this  time  it  was  noon,  and  Delicado,  remem- 
bering that  he  meant  to  have  his  hair  dressed,  re- 
traced his  steps  through  the  Rue  Chartres  to  the 
Rue  du  Maine,  and  began  glancing  from  right  to 
left  as  though  searching  for  some  particular  place. 
Presently  his  eye  lighted  upon  a  brass  basin,  which 
overhung  the  entrance  to  the  Atelier  Jallot. 

"That  must  be  the  shop  to  which  Gazonac  re- 
ferred," he  reflected,  and,  without  hesitation, 
passed  through  the  arch  and  knocked  at  the  bar- 
ber's door. 

Poupet,  who  was  giving  Villebois  a  fencing  les- 
son, answered  the  call. 

"Is  this  the  Atelier  Jallot?"  asked  the  Spaniard, 
stepping  across  the  doorsill,  and  reviewing  in  one 
swift  look,  the  quadroon,  Villebois,  and  the  ap- 
pointments of  the  studio. 

"Yez,  Michie,"  answered  Poupet,  politely. 

"Are  you  Senor  Jallot?" 

Poupet  grinned  and  bowed.  "Yo*  pay  me 
gweat  compliment,  Michie!  No!  Ah  am  juz 

85 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

Poupet,  'Sieur  Jallot's  assistant." 

"I  have  not  been  in  New  Orleans  for  many 
years,"  explained  Delicado.  "My  excuse  for  not 
knowing  Sefior  Jallot." 

The  little  quadroon  went  on  with  enthusiasm 
to  inform  the  stranger  that  Jallot  was  the  greatest 
barber,  the  best  dancing  master,  the  most  accom- 
plished swordsman,  the  most  celebrated  litterateur 
in  Louisiana;  while  Villebois,  wearying  of  the 
conversation,  hung  up  his  foil,  and,  divesting  him- 
self of  mask  and  shield,  proceeded  to  rearrange 
his  toilette  before  the  mirror. 

"Your  master  appears  to  be  quite  a  wonderful 
person,"  commented  the  Spaniard,  smiling. 

"Mos'  won'erful !"  declared  Poupet. 

"Can  he  be  seen  at  this  hour?" 

"Nod  ad  presend,  Michie;  he  ve'y  buzy  wridin' 
a  play." 

"Well,  then,  when  will  he  be  at  leisure?" 

"By  four  o'clock  dese  evenin',  Michie." 

"I  will  return  at  that  hour  to  have  my  hair 
dressed." 

"Merci,  Ah  mague  de  appoindmend,  iv  yo'  pliz 
give  yo'  name." 

"Luiz  Delicado." 

Villebois,  hearing  this,  turned  from  the  glass 
with  sudden  interest,  and  addressed  the  Spaniard : 
"Monsieur,  this  is  an  excellent  shop  in  which  to 
get  your  throat  cut!" 

Poupet  gasped  an  indignant  protest,  but  was 

86 


"AN  EXCELLENT  SHOP" 

quickly  silenced  by  Delicado,  who  elevated  his 
eyebrows  and  significantly  scrutinized  Villebois. 
"That  is  a  jest!  Is  it  not,  Sefior?"  he  observed 
with  a  bland  smile,  appealing  to  the  Creole. 

"To  be  sure,"  confirmed  Villebois,  slipping  into 
his  coat  and  setting  his  beaver  firmly  on  his  head. 

"If  you  are  going  out,"  Delicado  continued, 
"perhaps  you  will  be  so  kind  as  to  direct  me  to  the 
house  of  a  Monsieur  Gazonac." 

"I  shall  be  happy  to  do  so,"  responded  the  Cre- 
ole, leading  the  way. 

When  they  had  gone,  Poupet  reported  the  ap- 
pointment to  Jallot,  and  recounted  to  him  the 
strange  dialogue  which  had  passed  between  his 
pupil  and  the  visitor. 

"It  iz  a  fool — dad  sayin' — hem?"  he  questioned. 

"Perhaps;  but  do  not  fail  to  call  me  when  Mon- 
sieur Delicado  returns/  answered  Jallot,  dismiss- 
ing him. 

"Delicado !  Delicado !"  he  wondered.  "That 
name  seems  familiar,  yet  strange  to  me.  Where 
have  I  heard  it?  And  that  grim  phrase,  'this  is 
an  excellent  shop  in  which  to  get  your  throat  cut !' 
What  is  its  implication?" 

Trifles  may  form  rungs  in  the  ladder  of  des- 
tiny, and  Jallot,  recognizing  that,  did  not  despise 
them.  As  he  plied  his  pen,  the  problem  of  the 
man  and  the  phrase  recurred  to  him  with  persist- 
ence; and  while  he  puzzled  over  it,  in  the  seclusion 
of  his  cabinet,  another  riddle,  linked  with  that 

87 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

which  now  occupied  his  attention,  came  into  the 
shop  in  the  person  of  Tonton,  Mademoiselle  Tru- 
deau's  maid. 

Poupet  received  her  with  unaffected  delight. 
"Dese  de  gweatez  pleasure  yo'  come!  Ah  ged 
much  skeer  when  de  las'  time  Mamzelle  Trudeau 
arrive  widout  yo'." 

The  Yellow  Kitten  demurely  laid  a  hand  over 
her  heart  and  rejoined,  "Ah  waz  in  my  lill'  white 
chapel!" 

"Man  Dicii,  yo'  sick!"  he  exclaimed,  in  sym- 
pathy. "Ah  die  dead  iv  yo'  no  come  no  more 
soon."  And,  seeing  an  appreciative  look  in  the 
eyes  of  the  girl,  he  added,  "Say,  yo'  tell  me  now — 
when  we  ged  marrie?" 

"Ah  am  here  on  buziness,"  she  announced,  hold- 
ing him  off.  "Mamzelle  Trudeau  wish  t'  know 
whad  time  to-day  can  M'chie  Jallot  give  her  de 
fencin'  lezzon  'stead  of  to-morrow.  She  have 
someding  also  impordand  t'  say  ad  him." 

"Ah  will  ask  dad;  bud  firz  yo'  tell  me  'bout  dad 
ged  marrie,"  insisted  Poupet. 

Tonton  looked  coolly  about  the  atelier,  and, 
embracing  it  with  a  gesture,  asked,  "Dese  shop  iz 
not  yo'  shop  yed?" 

Her  lover  sighed  and  made  a  gesture  of  nega- 
tion. 

"Ma  foi!  Ah  not  marrie  anybody  whad  aind 
got  a  shop  to  hisself!"  she  announced. 

"Iv  Ah  get  dese  shop,  Tonton,  or  somebody 


"AN  EXCELLENT  SHOP" 

else  shop — yo'  marrie  me?" 

"Yo'  get  de  shop  firz,  Poupet !" 

Somewhat  crushed,  he  excused  himself  to  con- 
sult Jallot  about  the  fencing  lesson.  In  his  ab- 
sence, Lemaitre,  seeking  Gazonac,  looked  in  at 
the  atelier  door.  The  sight  of  his  fiancee's  maid  at 
once  challenged  his  suspicious  fancy. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  he  inquired. 

Tonton,  startled  at  his  brusque  question,  stam- 
mered something  indefinite  about  an  errand  for 
her  mistress. 

"She  sent  you — for  what?  This  is  not  the  day 
of  her  lesson !" 

Recovering  from  her  surprise,  Tonton  ignored 
his  threatening  look  and  calmly  replied,  "Pardon, 
Michie,  de  affair  of  Mamzelle — " 

"Is  also  my  affair.     What  is  it?" 

"Michie  need  not  make  so  loud  talk.  De  buzi- 
ness  iz  to  change  de  hour  of  Mamzelle's  lesson." 

Lemaitre  laughed  his  unbelief,  and  turned  to 
the  court  door  as  Poupet  came  from  the  cabinet. 

"Michie  Jallot  will  see  Mamzelle  Trudeau  at  two 
dese  evenin',"  reported  the  quadroon.  Lemaitre, 
hearing  this,  gave  a  grunt  of  irritation,  and  after 
a  moment's  consideration,  said  to  Poupet,  "If  you 
should  see  Monsieur  Gazonac  tell  him  that  I  shall 
be  at  the  Tivoli  not  later  than  three  o'clock." 

Tonton  made  a  face  after  the  Creole,  and  de- 
clared that  he  was  a  most  unpleasant  person.  "Ah 
wish  dad  Mamzelle  Trudeau  give  him  de  conge. 

89 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

Dere  is  Michie  Osbourne,  de  Americane  officer — 
much  bes'  man,"  she  remarked,  scratching  her 
nose  daintily. 

"Oh,  you'  nose  itch!"  cried  Poupet.  "Dad  a 
sign  a  old  bachelor  iz  goin'  to  kizz  yo'  an'  a  young 
man  is  crazzie  'bout  dad." 

"De  young  man  bes'  not  try,"  laughed  the  Yel- 
low Kitten,  darting  out  the  door. 


CHAPTER  IX 

A  PETTICOAT  AND  A  CONSPIRACY 

Ottilie,  breathless,  and  in  a  fever  of  excitement, 
reached  the  atelier  that  afternoon  promptly  at  the 
hour  of  her  appointment.  That  something  un- 
usual had  occurred  to  disturb  her,  and  that  it  had 
to  do  with  Lemaitre,  was  evident  to  Tonton,  who, 
while  they  waited,  busied  herself  accoutering  her 
mistress  for  the  lesson.  Neither  did  Ottilie's  agi- 
tation escape  the  attention  of  Jallot,  as  he  greeted 
her. 

"You  are  very  kind  to  give  me  this  hour,  Mon- 
sieur," she  exclaimed,  jerking  nervously  at  a  stub- 
born buckle. 

"It  is  a  pleasure  to  arrange  these  little  matters 
to  suit  you,  Mademoiselle,"  he  returned,  as  he  ad- 
justed her  shield. 

She  looked  at  him  with  embarrassment,  while 
he  chose  a  foil  for  her,  and  at  length  faltered,  "I — 
I  confess,  Monsieur,  that  it  was  not  altogether  on 
account  of  the  fencing  that  I  asked  you  to  change 
my  hour." 

"So?"  He  affected  surprise.  "What  then, 
Mademoiselle?" 

91 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

"I — I  cannot  quite  make  up  my  mind  to  tell 
you!" 

She  hoped  he  would  coax  her  into  relieving  her 
mind,  but  all  he  said  was,  "Very  well!  Are  you 
ready?" 

She  began  her  lesson  in  an  ill  humor,  and  when 
he  had  evaded  her  guard  three  times  in  succession, 
she  stamped  her  foot  with  impatience. 

"You  should  have  guarded  in  prime,"  he  ad- 
vised. 

Again  and  again  she  failed  to  ward  his  thrusts, 
until,  in  a  temper,  she  flung  down  her  foil.  "I  tell 
you,  Monsieur,  I  cannot  fence  to-day.  I  am  too 
nervous."  Off  came  her  mask  and  shield,  and  the 
gauntlets  followed  them. 

Jallot  shook  his  head.  "You  did  not  come  for 
a  lesson?" 

Ottilie  was  at  once  penitent.  "Oh,  forgive 
me,"  she  entreated.  "I  take  your  time  for  noth- 
ing." 

"Do  not  say  that,  Mademoiselle;  you  may  com- 
mand me  on  all  occasions  and  for  all  things." 

He  smiled  and  waved  her  to  the  window-seat, 
where  she  sat  for  a  little  while,  her  chin  in  her 
hands,  staring  at  the  tips  of  her  slippers.  "You 
really  mean  that?"  she  presently  asked. 

"Of  course!  If  there  is  anything  I  would  not 
do  for  your  sake,  I  certainly  would  for  your  fath- 
er's!" 

"And  you  will  wonder  that  I  do  not  go  to  him 

92 


A  PETTICOAT  AND  A  CONSPIRACY 

now,  instead  of  coming  to  you;  but  I  dare  not." 
She  paused  a  moment,  and  then  receiving  a  look 
of  encouragement  from  Jallot,  went  on.  "As  you 
know,  Monsieur  Lemaitre  is  my  fiance !  I  heard 
something  from  him  last  night  which  has  greatly 
disturbed  rne.  I  do  not  know,  but  I  fear  he  has 
imprudently  joined  in  an  affair  that  may  mean  his 
— his  death !" 

"A  duel?" 

"No,  Monsieur;  much  worse  than  that!  He 
has  become  entangled  in  a  conspiracy  against  the 
American  government." 

Jallot's  eyes  widened  with  wonder.  "A  con- 
spiracy!" he  exclaimed.  "With  whom?" 

"Monsieur  Gazonac  is  one  and  Monsieur  Ville- 
bois  another.  There  is  a  third  he  mentioned 
whose  name  I  cannot  remember.  It  was  Spanish." 

"Was  it  Delicado?" 

Ottilie  clasped  her  hands  excitedly.  "Yes,  yes 
— Delicado,"  she  ejaculated. 

In  an  instant  the  problem,  which  had  puzzled 
Jallot,  now  assumed  a  larger  shape.  He  recalled 
the  scraps  of  conversation  he  had  picked  up  in 
the  Place  d'Armes,  and  remembered  that  there 
he  had  first  heard  the  Spaniard's  name.  What  he 
had  assumed  to  be  no  more  than  idle  gossip,  now 
appeared  to  him  of  graver  import.  How  serious 
the  intrigue  was,  and  how  much  it  would  mean  to 
him,  he  did  not  even  fancy.  Destiny,  playing  out 
the  great  game  of  life,  shuffled  the  pack  and 

93 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

stacked  the  cards  against  him.  Her  lead  was 
blind  to  him,  and  only  time  could  show  the  make- 
up of  his  hand,  though  he  held  in  it  the  fortunes 
of  a  state,  the  happiness  of  a  woman,  and  the  mak- 
ing of  himself. 

In  some  clairvoyant  fashion  he  was  given  to  feel 
that  fate  had  challenged  him.  The  strain  of  a 
fighting  sire  vitalized  the  blood  of  a  debonair 
son,  so  that  almost  unconsciously  he  accepted  the 
gage  of  fate,  as  his  father  might  have  answered  a 
call  to  arms;  only  with  this  difference:  his  impulse 
was  tempered  with  his  mother's  wit,  which  taught 
him  that  the  stoic's  mask  is  often  a  better 
weapon  of  defence  than  the  point  of  a  sword. 

Ottilie  was  studying  his  immobile  features  for 
some  sign  of  his  thoughts,  but  reading  nothing1 
there,  ventured  to  ask,  "What  do  you  mean  to  do, 
Monsieur?" 

"What  do  you  wish  me  to  do?" 

"Save  Monsieur  Lemaitre!  If  the  conspiracy 
should  fail,  he  would  be  arrested  and  perhaps  exe- 
cuted. I  want  you  to  save  him  from  this  danger." 

Jallot  smiled  at  her  benevolently.  "Have  you 
any  idea  of  the  great  difficulties  your  commission 
imposes  upon  me,  Mademoiselle?"  he  inquired. 

"Ah,  yes;  and  that  is  one  reason  why  I  came  to 
you — I  have  such  faith  in  your  ability  to  do  any- 
thing and  do  it  well.  I  should  have  told  my 
father,  but  I  feared  that  he  might  blunder  where 
you  would  succeed.  Oh  yes,  I  see  the  difficulties; 

94 


A  PETTICOAT  AND  A  CONSPIRACY 

and  I  must  tell  you  that  Monsieur  Lemaitre  would 
never  forgive  me  if  he  learned  that  I  had  confided 
this  secret  to  you." 

"Of  course,  I  understand  that,"  he  rejoined. 
"Well,  what  must  be  done,  can  be  done !" 

"You  will  undertake  to  save  him?" 

"For  your  sake,  yes,  Mademoiselle!" 

Under  the  impulse  of  her  great  gratitude  and 
relief,  Ottilie  embraced  Jallot,  and  wept  a  little 
into  the  frills  of  his  immaculate  shirt  front.  This 
was  the  tableau  which  met  the  jealous  eyes  of  Le- 
maitre himself,  who,  primed  with  suspicion,  en- 
tered the  atelier  without  the  ceremony  of  knock- 
ing. 

At  the  sight  of  him,  Tonton  arose  from  her  seat 
in  apprehension,  and  Jallot,  looking  over  the 
shoulder  of  his  pupil,  saw  the  intruder  close  and 
lock  the  door  behind  him  with  significant  violence. 
The  noise,  accompanying  this  action,  caused  Ot- 
tilie to  turn  from  the  barber  in  haste,  and  seeing 
her  fiance  advancing  in  a  rage,  retreated  to  the 
window. 

"What  have  you  to  say  for  yourself?"  vocifer- 
ated Lemaitre,  coming  to  a  pause  within  a  few 
paces  of  Jallot. 

"What  would  you  like  me  to  say?"  rejoined  the 
master  without  betraying  his  annoyance. 

This  retort  only  served  to  infuriate  the  Creole. 

"You  make  a  jest  of  it !  We  shall  see,  Monsieur 
le  Barbier!" 

95 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

"Etienne !"  exclaimed  Ottilie,  protesting  against 
the  epithet. 

"Be  still,"  he  commanded,  and  then  addressed 
himself  to  Jallot,  accusingly.  "You  take  advan- 
tage of  Mademoiselle's  coming  to  you  for  instruc- 
tion—" 

Ottilie  interrupted  him  with  a  show  of  anger. 
"You  are  mistaken,  Monsieur;  and  you  insult  me 
to—" 

"I  shall  hear  from  you  later,"  snapped  her 
fiance.  "I  have  first  to  deal  with  this  gentleman !"' 

"Proceed,"  suggested  Jallot,  who  began  to  be 
bored  with  Lemaitre's  ill  humor. 

"Explain,  then,  how  it  is  that  I  find  Madem- 
oiselle Trudeau  in  your  arms!  You  surely  have 
had  time  to  invent  an  excuse,  but  I  warn  you  it 
must  be  convincing."  As  he  made  this  declara- 
tion, the  Creole  flung  down  his  chapeau  and 
gripped  his  sword  cane. 

Jallot  watched  these  brawling  preparations  with 
contempt,  and  replied,  "It  is  a  matter  of  indiffer- 
ence to  me  whether  my  word  is  convincing  or  not. 
But  for  the  sake  of  Mademoiselle,  I  would  make 
no  explanation.  The  fact  is  that  I  offered  her 
some  little  service.  In  gratitude  she  impetuously 
embraced  me." 

"What  is  that  service?"  demanded  Lemaitre. 

"That  is  my  affair." 

"No!     It  is  mine!     You  shall  tell  me,   or— 
The  Creole  finished  by  tapping  his  cane. 

96 


A  PETTICOAT  AND  A  CONSPIRACY 

Jallot  smiled  at  him  and  said,  "I  will  not  fight 
with  you,  Monsieur!" 

"The  coward  lives  a  long  time,"  jeered  Lcmaitre. 

For  a  moment  Ottilie  held  her  breath  in  timor- 
ous expectation,  fearful  of  what  might  follow  her 
fiance's  studied  insult;  but  Jallot  only  shrugged 
his  shoulders.  "If  Mademoiselle  had  not  given 
me  great  proof  of  her  affection  for  you,  Monsieur, 
I  would  not  bid  you  go  in  peace." 

This  unexpected  reproof  subdued  Lemaitre  for 
the  moment.  With  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders  he 
went  to  the  door  and  stood  there  waiting,  while 
Tonton  bowed  the  bonnet  ribbons  under  her  mis- 
tress's chin. 

As  Ottilie  offered  Jallot  her  hand  in  thanks,  Le- 
maitre gave  an  exclamation  of  impatience,  and  the 
barber,  feigning  to  misinterpret  its  meaning,  said : 
"When  you  speak  again,  Monsieur,  it  should  be 
to  ask  Mademoiselle's  pardon — not  mine !  Good 
day!"  He  bowed  them  out. 

With  their  departure,  Jallot  turned  his  thoughts 
to  consideration  of  the  conspiracy,  but  his  reverie 
was  presently  interrupted  by  Poupet,  who  came  in 
carrying  his  master's  hat  and  cane. 

"Pardon,  Michie,"  said  he,  "yo'  have  an  ap- 
pondmend  wid  de  sheriff  ad  de  Pig  an'  Whistle 
ad  t'ree  o'clock." 

"So  I  have !"  He  looked  at  his  watch.  "I  shall 
return  in  time  to  keep  my  engagement  with  Deli- 
cado." 

97 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

The  Pig  and  Whistle  whither  Jallot  now  hur- 
ried his  steps,  was  a  quaint  little  cabaret  in  the 
Rue  St.  Philippe.  Its  one  story  was  capped  with 
an  attic,  its  hip  roof  of  red  tiles  was  broken  with 
dormer  windows,  and  the  broad  casement  and 
arched  doorway — cut  in  the  adobe  wall — were 
comfortably  shaded  by  projecting  eaves.  On  a 
warm  day  it  looked  invitingly  cool  within,  for  the 
eye,  passing  over  its  well-worn  but  immaculate 
appointments,  rested  upon  the  green  verdure  of  a 
miniature  garden,  which  showed  through  a  wide 
window  at  the  rear  of  the  cafe.  A  part  of  its 
charm  was  the  absence  of  culinary  odors — the 
kitchen  was  located  in  the  garden  and  concealed 
under  a  bower  of  jasmine.  Through  the  open 
window  came  the  perfume  of  magnolias,  mingling 
with  the  scent  of  a  vast  variety  of  flowers,  which 
grew  in  boxes  upon  the  casement  ledge  or  re- 
posed in  earthen  jars  upon  the  tables.  Canaries 
sang  in  wicker  cages,  swung  from  the  cypress 
beams  above,  and  contributed  a  pretty  air  of 
cheerfulness  to  the  place. 

The  cabaret  was  kept  by  a  villainous  looking 
Mexican,  who  served  delicious  dishes  and  insidious 
beverages  compounded  after  his  own  original  re- 
cipes, and  the  fame  of  them  brought  him  a  large 
custom  among  the  Creoles,  whose  chief  occupa- 
tion was  that  of  wasting  time.  Their  fashion  was 
to  place  themselves  in  front  of  a  glass  of  can 
sucree,  and  wait  for  the  hours  to  pass,  as  though 


A  PETTICOAT  AND  A  CONSPIRACY 

the  mere  exertion  of  living  was  a  torment.  Som- 
nolence thus  became  an  art  with  them;  and 
nowhere  did  they  practice  it  with  such  indolent 
persistence  as  at  the  cafes. 

Particularly  attractive  to  a  certain  coterie  of 
Creoles  was  The  Pig  and  Whistle,  for  the  rea- 
son that  its  hospitable  eaves  afforded  a  shade  in 
the  open  air,  where,  tilting  their  chairs  back 
against  the  wall,  they  could  smoke,  drink  and  gos- 
sip the  hours  away. 

It  was  a  favorite  resort  of  Jallot's  for  the  sake 
of  its  cooking;  and  Osbourne,  whom  he  had  intro- 
duced to  the  delights  of  its  kitchen,  also  became 
an  enthusiastic  patron.  The  American  was  there 
when  Jallot  arrived,  and  both  were  much  relieved 
because  the  habitues  of  the  place  were  occupying 
their  chairs  outside,  thus  leaving  the  interior  un- 
tenanted  save  for  an  old  Creole,  who  was  fast 
asleep  in  a  corner. 

"This  is  the  best  of  luck,"  commented  the  bar- 
ber, as  he  took  a  seat  across  the  table  from  Os- 
bourne; "we  have  the  place  quite  to  ourselves." 

"So  long  as  the  weather  is  fair,  the  idlers  are  sure 
to  stay  outside,"  said  the  sheriff.  "In  fact,  for  the 
last  year  they  do  not  seem  to  have  moved.  I  often 
wonder  if  they  stir  at  all,  and  if  our  host  does  not 
carry  them  in  the  last  thing  at  night  and  set  them 
out  again  the  first  thing  in  the  morning  as  he  does 
his  plants." 

"That  is   more  than  likely,"  smiled  Jallot.      "I 

99 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

am  sure  the  only  time  they  move  is  at  the  sum- 
moning of  the  Black  Doctor — Death;  a  call  which 
even  you  and  I,  busy  as  we  are,  must  harken  to 
as  well  as  they." 

"Well,  I  intend  to  hold  him  off  as  long  as  I  can, 
and  for  that  purpose  I  have  ordered  dinner." 

"Which  may  have  quite  the  contrary  effect!" 

"I  know  I  am  not  so  accomplished  as  you  in 
the  assembling  of  a  menu,  Jallot,  but  I  warrant 
you'll  be  satisfied  in  this  case." 

"For  my  part,  I  shall  probably  not  think  of 
what  we  have  to  eat — my  mind  is  concerned 
with  a  matter  of  much  more  importance.  Indeed, 
if  I  had  not  been  reminded  of  our  rendezvous,  I 
should  probably  have  forgotten  to  dine  at  all." 

"I  hope  I  have  not  taken  you  from  some  affair 
which  has  a  better  claim  upon  your  time  than  I." 

Jallot  shook  his  head.  "It  so  happens  that  you 
are  the  very  man  I  most  wish  to  see  under  the  cir- 
cumstances." 

"In  which  case  I  presume  I  am  permitted  to  be 
curious?" 

"You  are;  and  I  shall  confide  in  you  as  soon  as 
we  are  served.  Here  conies  Pepo  with  your  out- 
rage upon  gastronomy." 

Osbourne  had  taken  a  leaf  from  Jallot's  book 
when  he  had  set  out  to  provide  the  dinner,  and 
he  confessed  as  much  when  the  Frenchman  com- 
plimented him  upon  his  good  taste. 

"It  is  a  great  shame,"  said  Jallot,  "to  rumple 

100 


A  PETTICOAT  AND  A  CONSPIRACY 

your  fine  humor  with  an  alarm;  but,  my  good 
sheriff,  you  are  about  to  have  your  official  hands 
employed  in  an  intrigue  which  is  likely  to  provoke 
your  wrath." 

Osbourne  bit  his  thumb,  which  was  his  way  of 
displaying  amiable  defiance.  "Is  it  a  duel?" 

"No,"  whispered  the  barber;  "it  is  a  conspiracy 
against  the  government!" 

"Pooh!"  ridiculed  the  American;  "the  people 
have  had  all  the  rioting  they  want.  I've  seen  to 
that." 

Jallot  pushed  aside  his  plate  of  gumbo.  "We 
have  a  proverb  here  which  precisely  fits  your  case : 
'It's  only  the  shoes  that  know  if  the  stockings  have 
holes.'  You  have  lived  in  New  Orleans  a  great 
many  years,  you  speak  French  as  well  as  most  of 
us,  and  better  than  some,  but  you  do  not  know 
us.  You  are  filled  with  a  certain  commendable 
self-satisfaction  or  conceit,  which  blunts  your  pow- 
ers of  observation  and  leads  you  to  believe  that 
Louisiana  has  accepted  the  inevitable;  and  you 
think  no  more  about  the  problems  of  properly 
ordering  the  affairs  of  the  province.  Let  me  tell 
you  that  you  are  all  in  the  wrong.  Louisiana  may 
have  accepted  your  government,  but  surely  she 
has  not  embraced  it !" 

"Oh,  that  will  come,"  asserted  Osbourne  airily. 

"Possibly,  but  you  have  to  deal  with  the  pres- 
ent, and  if  you  do  not  rub  up  your  goggles  you 
will  wake  some  fine  morning  to  find  yourself  eat- 

101 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

ing  breakfast  from  a  tin  plate  in  the  gaol,  with 
the  governor  as  a  companion,  while  some  Span- 
iard dines  from  the  silver  service  at  the  Hotel  de 
Ville  to  celebrate  the  overthrow  of  the  American 
authorities." 

The  sheriff  waved  his  hand  toward  the  window, 
where  they  could  see  the  heads  of  the  idlers  in 
front  of  the  cabaret.  "They  hatch  a  conspiracy 
every  day !"  He  laughed  heartily  at  the  idea. 

Jallot  did  not  wait  for  him  to  finish,  but  leaned 
across  the  table  and  touched  him  on  the  arm,  say- 
ing, "Before  you  die  of  laughter,  hear  me  out. 
This  conspiracy  is  not  the  design  of  Creoles,  but 
is  headed  by  a  Frenchman  who  is  known  to  you, 
and  a  Spaniard  who  is  not.  Do  you  realize  the 
influence  of  Gazonac?" 

In  an  instant  Osbourne  became  serious.  He 
knew  Gazonac  as  a  close  friend  to  the  powerful 
Marquis  Casa  Calvo,  the  former  commissioner  of 
Spain,  who  still  remained  in  New  Orleans,  and 
about  whom  clustered  those  most  bitterly  opposed 
to  the  dominion  of  the  new  government.  Rumor 
had  long  associated  the  Spaniard's  name  with 
various  enterprises,  the  aim  of  which  was  sup- 
posedly to  wrest  Louisiana  from  the  United 
States;  and,  though  nothing,  up  to  that  time,  had 
actually  developed  to  prove  him  concerned  in  pro- 
jects of  rebellion,  still  he  was  regarded  in  official 
quarters  as  a  likely  menace  to  the  peace  of  the 
province. 

1 02 


A  PETTICOAT  AND  A  CONSPIRACY 

Gazonac  had  the  reputation  of  being,  by  grace, 
the  jackal  of  this  lion,  for  a  lion,  indeed,  was  Casa 
Calvo.  He  ruled  the  social  state,  if  not  the  po- 
litical one,  and  counted  among  his  followers  an 
army  of  adventurous  swords,  ready  to  be  drawn  in 
his  support  at  the  raising  of  a  jewelled  finger. 
More  than  this,  he  had  affiliations  with  free-boot- 
ing Spaniards  in  Florida,  whence  he  could  draw 
formidable  recruits  in  the  event  of  urgent  need. 

Osbourne  therefore  saw  at  once  that  where 
Gazonac  was  interested,  his  puissant  compatriot 
might  also  be  concerned.  Certainly  it  was  a  mat- 
ter demanding  serious  attention,  particularly  as 
the  people  of  Louisiana,  still  regarding  the  new 
regime  with  anything  but  cordial  feelings,  might 
readily  be  incited  to  take  arms  against  the  govern- 
ment. All  would  depend  upon  the  man  who 
dared  to  take  leadership  in  the  enterprise.  If  it 
were  only  Gazonac,  the  brawler,  there  was  little 
to  fear  for  the  result.  The  Frenchman  was  too 
quick  tempered,  too  illy-poised,  to  guide  the  des- 
tiny of  such  a  venture. 

"You  say  that  Gazonac  is  the  leader  of  this  con- 
spiracy, Jallot?"  asked  the  sheriff. 

"I  said  he  was  one  of  two,  who  have  come  under 
my  notice;  but  I  fancy  you  will  have  to  look  high- 
er to  find  the  head  of  this  affair." 

"Who  is  the  other?" 

"A  Spaniard — called  Delicado,  who  came  to  my 
atelier  this  morning  for  the  avowed  purpose  of 

103 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

having  his  hair  dressed;  but  I  suspect  him  of  a 
deeper  motive.  He  is  to  return  at  four  o'clock, 
when  I  shall  take  pains  to  wait  upon  him." 

"Are  you  sure  that  you  are  not  letting  your  im- 
agination run  away  with  your  reason?"  queried 
Osbourne. 

"Positively!  The  conspiracy  is  being  organized 
already.  Villebois  and  Lemaitre  are  enrolled." 

"That  is  news!"  exclaimed  the  American, 
ominously. 

Jallot  could  not  suppress  a  smile.  "I  ask  you, 
is  it  fair  that  you  should  permit  your  prejudice 
against  Lemaitre  to  affect  your  treatment  of  the 
issue?"  he  inquired.  He  was  satisfied  that  Os- 
bourne entertained  a  genuine  affection  for  Ottilie 
Trudeau,  and  heard  with  some  apprehension  the 
threat  in  his  companion's  ejaculation.  "No  mat- 
ter what  comes,"  he  added,  "I  am  bound  to  see 
that  no  harm  befalls  Lemaitre  through  this  affair." 

"Why?"     The  question  was  angrily  put. 

"That  was  the  price  of  my  information."  Jal- 
lot evaded  the  sheriff's  searching  look. 

There  was  a  ring  of  jealousy  in  Osbourne's 
voice  as  he  asked,  "Did  you  get  your  information 
of  Mademoiselle  Trudeau?" 

The  barber  gave  a  little  laugh,  which  did  not 
mislead  his  interlocutor,  who  refused  to  listen  to 
the  admonishment  that  he  must  be  cautious.  "I 
swear  to  you,  Jallot,"  he  went  on,  "that  I  shall 
arrest  them  all" 

104 


A  PETTICOAT  AND  A  CONSPIRACY 

"What  a  wonderful  sheriff  you  are !''  mocked 
the  other. 

Osbourne  writhed  under  this  derision.  "What 
would  you  do?"  he  demanded. 

"I  would  ask  my  friend,  Victor  Jallot,  to  be- 
come one  of  the  conspirators  that  he  might  learn 
the  details  of  the  plot,  the  name  of  every  man  con- 
cerned; and  then — possessed  of  that  knowledge — 
but  not  until  then — I  would  crush  the  enterprise 
with  one  swift,  sure  blow!" 

For  a  moment  Osbourne  said  nothing,  but 
stared  at  the  speaker  as  though  estimating  his 
ability  to  carry  out  such  a  design.  At  last,  appar- 
ently satisfied,  he  asked,  "You  will  undertake  this 
for  me?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Jallot,  simply;  "I  am  rather  keen 
for  the  adventure  1" 


JALLOT    IS    CALLED    "PAPOUTE" 

Jallot's  readiness  to  undertake  the  commission 
was  not  wholly  for  the  sake  of  adventure.  The 
affair,  although  he  could  not  have  foreseen  where 
it  would  lead  him,  suggested  greater  possibilities. 
He  was  like  those  brave  spirits  who,  taking  ad- 
vantage of  all  that  fate  flings  in  their  path,  see  the 
incidents  through,  and  philosophically  accept  the 
ill  or  good  measure  vouchsafed  their  intrepidity. 

In  the  case  of  Jallot  this  did  not  mean  that  he 
was  in  the  least  infirm  of  purpose.  On  the  contrary 
he  kept  well  in  mind  the  peculiar  end  toward 
which  he  strove,  forging  chance  occasions  to  fit 
the  structure  of  his  life's  design.  So  he  meant 
that  his  success  in  this  adventure,  one  way  or  an- 
other, must  advance  his  fortune. 

He  therefore  lost  no  time,  but  hastened  back 
to  the  atelier,  and  had  scarcely  removed  his  coat 
and  donned  his  barber's  tunic,  when  Delicado  en- 
tered the  door,  left  open  to  the  evening  breeze. 

"Is  this  Senor  Jallot  ?"  he  asked  with  a  flourish. 

"Yes,  Monsieur,"  returned  the  other,  surveying 
the  Spaniard  closely. 

"I  am  Luiz  Delicado.      I    have    been    recom- 

106 


JALLOT  IS  CALLED  "PAPOUTE " 

mended  to  your  shop  by  Senor  Gazonac.  I  come 
to  have  my  hair  dressed." 

Jallot  invited  him  to  the  chair,  and  rang  for 
Poupet,  who  relieved  the  visitor  of  chapeau  and 
stick,  and  fastened  an  apron  about  his  neck. 

''You  are  a  stranger  to  New  Orleans,  Mon- 
sieur?" inquired  the  barber  as  he  set  out  scissors, 
comb  and  brush. 

"Not  entirely.     I  lived  here  twelve  years  ago." 

Jallot  began  dressing  his  customer's  hair. 
"There  have  been  many  changes  in  that  time." 

"Louisiana  was  under  Spanish  rule  then,"  re- 
marked Delicado,  his  eyes  riveted  on  the  mirror 
as  he  watched  with  fascination  the  dexterous  ma- 
nipulations of  the  tonsor. 

"It  would  be  better  were  it  under  the  old 
regime,  Monsieur." 

Delicado  looked  up  with  interest.  "Then  you 
do  not  approve  of  the  new  government?" 

"It  is  barbarous." 

"That  should  not  offend  you,"  jested  the  Span- 
iard. 

"You  have  a  keen  wit,  Monsieur,"  laughed  Jal- 
lot, and,  making  sure  that  he  was  not  observed, 
winked  at  Poupet,  who  was  waxing  the  floor.  "I 
am  a  barber,"  he  added,  "but  I  have  a  taste  above 
soap,  I  assure  you !" 

"You  are  a  surgeon,  too,  I  understand." 

"Yes,  at  a  pinch  I  have  presumed  to  use  the 
lance." 

107 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

"Then  you  are  not  averse  to  letting  a  little 
blood?"  quizzed  Delicado. 

"This  is  an  excellent  shop  in  which  to  get  your 
throat  cut,"  Jallot's  tone  was  impersonal. 

The  Spaniard  started  up  in  the  chair  in  genuine 
amazement.  "What's  that?"  he  exclaimed. 

"A  jest,"  replied  the  barber;  and  dismissed  Pou- 
pet  with  a  gesture. 

Into  the  blue  eyes  of  Delicado  came  a  look  of 
wariness  as  he  asked,  "Do  you  always  turn  your 
assistant  out  when  you  become  merry?" 

"No!  Only  when  my  customer  shows  signs  of 
scintillating.  Poupet  is  just  cunning  enough  to 
borrow  the  flower  of  your  wit  and  serve  it  to  my 
patrons  as  his  own,  thus  depriving  me  of  the  pleas- 
ure of  plagiarizing  you  myself." 

"Then  I  may  take  it  that  this  jest  is  not  original 
with  you,  Senor?" 

Jallot  hesitated.  He  knew  that  much  depended 
upon  the  reply.  However  impatient  he  was  to 
come  to  the  point,  he  realized  that  he  must  not 
show  too  great  an  interest.  "No  one  knows  that 
as  well  as  you,"  he  finally  countered. 

"What  makes  you  think  so?" 

"Many  things,  Monsieur!" 

"Name   one."    . 

"We  are  agreed  that  government  of  Louisiana 
by  the  United  States  is  not  an  ideal  condition." 

"I  have  not  said  so!" 

"I  was  under  the  impression  that  you  had!" 

1 08 


JALLOT  IS  CALLED  "PAPOUTE" 

Again  there  was  a  pause.  Jallot  was  putting  the 
finishing  touches  to  Delicado's  toilette.  "There!" 
he  exclaimed,  throwing  off  the  apron,  and  offering 
his  customer  a  hand-glass. 

"Excellent !"  appraised  the  Spaniard,  as  he  took 
a  hasty  survey.  Then  he  rose  from  the  chair  and 
added,  "A  man  of  your  discretion  is  wasting  his 
time  in  a  shop  like  this." 

"I  have  thought  that  myself,"  smiled  Jallot. 

Delicado  became  absorbed  in  a  kind  of  reverie, 
from  which  he  was  aroused  by  a  knocking  at  the 
door.  This  brought  Poupet,  who  stopped  to  give 
the  Spaniard  his  chapeau  and  collect  the  fee,  be- 
fore answering  the  summons. 

"If  you  do  not  see  me  again  within  the  next  few 
days,  you  shall  hear  from  me,  Seiior,"  said  Deli- 
cado, addressing  himself  to  the  barber,  who  ac- 
knowledged the  remark  with  a  smile  of  interest, 
and  permitted  his  new  customer  to  go  without 
another  word. 

Quite  satisfied  with  the  progress  he  had  made, 
Jallot  retired  to  his  cabinet,  where  he  was  present- 
ly disturbed  by  Poupet. 

"Dare  iz  a  lill'  boy  whad  wand  fo'  to  see  yo', 
Michie,"  announced  the  quadroon.  "He  got  a 
leddah  he  say  he  must  give  yo'  hisse'f." 

"I'll  see  him  at  once,"  said  the  barber. 

Poupet  ushered  in  a  shy-looking,  forlorn  figure, 
whose  tousled  yellow  head  reached  no  higher 
than  the  arm  of  Jallot's  chair.  He  was  pretty  in 

109 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

a  wraith-like  way,  and  altogether  an  appealing  lit- 
tle fellow.  In  his  hand  he  clasped  a  crumpled 
note,  which  looked  as  though  it  had  once  been 
dainty. 

Jallot's  interest  and  sympathy  were  instantly 
aroused.  He  held  out  his  hand  encouragingly  to 
the  boy,  who  kept  back  in  timidity;  but,  after 
looking  into  those  kindly  gray  eyes,  and  hearing 
himself  called  "petit  gamin,"  he  suddenly  ad- 
vanced with  confidence  and  thrust  the  letter  into 
the  barber's  fingers. 

Before  opening  it,  the  Frenchman  directed  Pou- 
pet  to  give  the  little  visitor  a  seat  close  beside  him. 

The  note  was  addressed  in  a  feminine  hand  un- 
known to  Jallot.  He  broke  the  seal  and  read: 

"To  'Sieur  Victor  Jallot :  I  cannot  resist,  Mon- 
sieur, the  temptation  to  send  you  this  little  boy, 
who  is  without  friend  or  protector.  I  have 
formed  a  great  attachment  for  the  child,  and 
would  adopt  him  myself,  save  that  my  foster- 
father,  Herr  Froebel,  has  admonished  me  that  it 
would  be  undesirable.  I  know,  Monsieur,  that 
you  are  not  indifferent  to  the  woes  of  those  about 
you,  and  I  have  thought  that  you  might  find  it 
in  your  feeling  heart  to  give  this  unfortunate  boy 
a  home.  I  have  experienced  a  doubt  as  to  the 
propriety  of  suggesting  such  a  course  to  you,  yet 
I  know  you  will  not  take  this  as  a  sign  of  boldness, 
but  rather  as  a  mark  of  the  esteem  in  which  I  hold 
you.  Adieu,  Monsieur.  I  pray  God  that  He  will 

no 


JALLOT  IS  CALLED  "PAPOUTE " 

shed  upon  you  His  blessing  and  His  light.  An- 
toinette Froebel." 

Never  had  Antoinette  been  so  gracious  to  Jal- 
lot  as  in  that  letter;  never  had  she  seemed  to  him 
so  utterly  adorable  as  in  that  first  missive  he  had 
received  from  her  hand.  For  a  time  he  quite  for- 
got its  bearer  in  the  happy  contemplation  of  the 
thought  that  she  believed  him  possessed  of  "a 
feeling  heart,"  that  she  held  him  in  esteem,  that 
she  had  turned  to  him  in  confidence,  and  that  she 
had  closed  her  letter  in  so  sweet  a  spirit  of  solici- 
tude. Jallot  was  deeply  touched.  A  glow  of 
tenderness  came  over  his  face,  softening  the  firm 
lines  of  his  expressive  lips,  and  the  light  of  it  shone 
in  his  eyes. 

The  little  boy,  wratching  him,  smiled  wistfully. 
He  was  being  ignored  and  he  wished  that  the  bar- 
ber would  extend  to  him  the  beatific  attention 
now  bestowed  upon  the  letter.  Presently  the 
man  folded  it  with  something  like  a  caress, 
and  the  child  longed  for  a  touch  of  those  wonder- 
ful hands. 

Much  to  his  satisfaction,  Jallot  at  last  turned 
and  looked  him  over  with  a  kind  yet  whimsical 
expression,  asking,  "So  I  am  to  adopt  you?" 

The  boy  had  lost  every  atom  of  fear.  He  spoke 
with  compelling  confidence.  "If  you  please,  Mon- 
sieur!" 

Jallot  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and,  simulating 
a  fatherly  tone,  inquired  the  child's  name. 

in 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

"Jerome !"  he  answered,  and  then  asked  ingenu- 
ously, "What's  yours?" 

"Victor,  thank  you.     How  old  are  you?" 

"Seven,  Monsieur!    How  old  are  you?" 

Jallot  laughed  at  this  question  and  replied, 
"More  than  twenty-seven."  Then  after  a  little 
silence,  "Where  are  your  parents?" 

"Never  had  any — only  a  father."  This  piteous 
declaration  was  made  in  quite  a  grown  up  fashion, 
as  though  he  meant  to  convey  the  idea  that  he 
really  did  not  care;  however,  it  was  plain  enough 
that  he  did. 

"And  where  is  he?" 

An  expression  of  woe  crept  into  the  boy's  eyes. 
"He — is — dead!"  The  reply  came  out  in  a  dry 
sob,  in  spite  of  his  brave  effort  to  control  himself. 

"Cher  petit,"  exclaimed  Jallot  with  infinite  sym- 
pathy, and,  lifting  Jerome  in  his  arms,  held  him 
there  for  a  few  moments  without  speaking,  while 
the  child  cried  on  his  shoulder. 

"Look  here!"  said  the  barber.  With  the  idea 
of  diverting  the  boy,  he  took  a  coin  and  held  it 
in  his  palm.  "See?"  Jerome  nodded.  "Now  I 
shut  it  up  tightly  in  my  fist.  Now  I  throw  it 
away!"  He  made  a  pass  through  the  air  like  a 
magician,  and  opened  his  hand  slowly.  The  coin 
had  disappeared.  "Gone!  I  think  it  is  in  your 
left  ear !"  He  apparently  found  it  there,  much  to 
the  child's  wonderment  and  delight.  "I  have  no 
doubt  that  I  could  coax  another  out  of  your  right 

112 


JALLOT  IS  CALLED  "PAPOUTE" 

ear.  Let  us  see!"  He  deftly  extracted  a  second 
coin,  manipulated  it  as  he  had  the  first,  and  placed 
them  both  in  the  waifs  hand.  "You  see,  we  shall 
never  want  for  money  while  you  are  about!" 

Jerome  was  fascinated.  He  forgot  all  about  his 
woe  in  this  new  found  play.  "More!"  he  begged. 

Jallot  enacted  the  role  of  prestidigitator  for 
nearly  an  hour,  the  while  making  firm  their  friend- 
ship. After  producing,  in  many  mysterious  ways, 
a  great  variety  of  trinkets,  he  asked,  "What  would 
you  like  now?" 

By  this  time  Jerome  was  convinced  that  he  had 
but  to  name  a  desire  to  see  it  fulfilled.  "I  want 
a  father!"  he  announced  seriously. 

The  barber  waved  his  hand  in  the  air,  and  mut- 
tered some  high-sounding  gibberish.  "Done !" 
he  declared;  "here  he  is!"  This  last,  holding  out 
his  arms. 

That  was  the  most  fascinating  play  the  boy  had 
ever  known,  for  it  seemed  to  be  real  at  the  same 
time.  "Papoute !"  he  exclaimed,  embracing  Jal- 
lot. It  was  the  Creole  word  for  little  father. 

"Very  well,"  laughed  the  man;  "I  shall  be  your 
'Papoute,'  though  the  word  scarcely  fits  my 
height.  Is  there  anything  else  you  want?" 

Jerome  studied  awhile.     "I'd  like  a  little  dog." 

"Very  well !  Just  at  present  I  have  no  dogs 
up  my  sleeve,  but  we  can  get  you  one."  He  called 
to  Poupet.  The  quadroon  thrust  his  head  in  the 
door.  Jallot  beckoned  him  to  enter,  saying, 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

"Poupet,  this  is  Jerome,  who  has  come  to  live  with 
us."  Paying  no  attention  to  the  amazement  this 
remark  occasioned,  he  went  on.  "Jerome,  this  is 
Poupet,  with  whom  we  are  obliged  to  live."  Now 
he  addressed  himself  again  to  his  assistant.  "You 
are  to  take  Jerome  and  buy  him  a  dog." 

"A  dog?"  groaned  the  quadroon.  "Mon  Dicu, 
Michie,  he  will  bark!" 

"Naturally!"  Then  to  the  boy,  "You  have 
your  money?" 

Jerome  displayed  the  coins.  "Yes,  thank  you!" 
He  was  a  polite  little  fellow. 

"Then  an  revoir,  Jerome!" 

"An  revoir,  Papoute." 

Poupet  took  the  lad's  hand,  and  led  him  tempt- 
ingly down  the  street  where  the  shops  showed 
their  alluring  wares.  He  did  not  like  dogs  and 
did  not  propose  to  be  bothered  with  one.  He  did, 
however,  like  Americans.  This  was  due  entirely 
to  the  generosity  of  Osbourne,  who,  in  the  quad- 
roon's estimation,  ranked  next  in  beneficence  to 
Jallot.  Therefore  when  he  and  his  charge  reached 
the  neighborhood  of  the  quay,  and  came  to  a 
pause  before  the  window  of  a  ship-chandler,  who 
made  gay  his  front  with  a  display  of  flags,  it  oc- 
curred to  Poupet  that  it  would  be  a  fine  thing  to 
buy  a  banner,  and  the  one  which  attracted  him 
most  was  the  emblem  of  the  United  States. 

He  cunningly  pointed  out  its  beauty  to  Jerome, 
and  intimated  that  his  master  had  long  wished  to 

114 


JALLOT  IS  CALLED  "PAPOUTE " 

own  a  flag  to  flaunt  over  the  atelier.  Observing 
that  this  sophistry  impressed  his  charge,  Poupet 
added  that,  if  they  should  buy  the  colors,  they 
would  not  only  please  Jallot  immensely,  but  also 
win  the  commendation  of  a  certain  Monsieur  Os- 
bourne,  who  could  be  relied  upon  to  reward  their 
patriotism  with  coins  sufficient  to  purchase  a 
dozen  dogs.  He  tempted  the  boy  further,  saying 
that  the  Fourth  of  July,  which  was  not  far  distant, 
would  offer  them  a  splendid  occasion  to  raise  the 
flag;  and  went  on  enthusiastically  to  describe  the 
elaborate  ceremony  which  should  attend  that 
event.  The  quadroon  slyly  concluded  his  cajoling 
with  the  insistence  that  the  whole  affair  must  be 
kept  a  secret.  All  these  blandishments  appealed 
compellingly  to  Jerome;  so  that  at  last  he  yielded 
and  bought  the  largest  flag  which  his  money  could 
obtain. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE    COMPLAINT    OF    MONSIEUR    GAZONAC 

On  Sunday  afternoon,  the  day  after  the  com- 
ing of  Jerome,  Antoinette  received  a  note  from 
Jallot,  telling  her  that  he  had  decided  to  adopt  the 
boy,  and  expressing  himself  as  grateful  to  her  for 
having  selected  him  to  foster  one  in  whom  she 
professed  so  great  an  interest.  That  brief  epistle, 
simple  but  elegant  in  form,  warmed  the  heart  of 
Antoinette,  who  had  confidently  expected  that  he 
would  receive  the  boy  into  his  household.  Never- 
theless the  girl  began  to  wonder  how  it  was  that 
she  had  been  so  sure  of  his  beneficence. 

She  was  sitting  alone  under  the  gallery  of  the 
villa  on  the  Bayou  Road,  and  looking  out  across 
terrace  and  orchard  to  where  the  purple  shades  of 
dusk  crowded  upon  the  russet  tints  of  the  after- 
glow. Her  thoughts,  the  hushed  evening,  and 
the  violet  lights,  made  up  for  her  a  mood  which 
should  have  had  its  tender  sway  unbroken,  since 
it  is  only  in  such  hours  that  the  soul  becomes  the 
dear  confidant  of  the  flesh,  and  in  that  com- 
munion one  may  hear  the  voice  of  the  spirit,  which 
speaks,  as  it  were,  in  music,  not  in  words. 

116 


THE  COMPLAINT  OF  GAZONAC 

Antoinette,  hearing  her  name  pronounced,  came 
out  of  that  wondrous  spell,  wide-eyed  and  star- 
ing, like  a  child  from  sleep.  She  turned  and 
over  her  shoulder  saw  the  rugged  figure  of  Ga- 
zonac silhouetted  against  the  lazy  lifting  moon. 
To  her  he  seemed  an  intruder  upon  the  exalted 
peace  of  her  meditations.  His  greeting,  the  flour- 
ish of  his  hat,  the  scrape  of  his  boots  upon  the 
tiles, — all  were  discords. 

Sure  of  his  welcome,  he  drew  a  chair  close  to 
hers,  and  began  retailing  the  petty  gossip  of  his 
world,  much  of  which  she  scarcely  heard.  From 
that  he  went  on  to  speak  of  himself,  a  theme  he 
fancied  he  had  well  prepared;  and,  mistaking  her 
silence  for  rapt  attention,  he  ventured  still  fur- 
ther to  proclaim  how  his  thoughts  dwelt  about  her. 

Roused  to  the  necessity  of  warning  him  that  he 
was  in  peril  of  chagrin,  Antoinette  told  him  that 
he  must  not  talk  to  her  of  love;  but  Gazonac,  tak- 
ing her  words  as  merely  a  pretty  form  of  coquetry, 
importuned  her  ardently.  With  that  resoluteness, 
full  of  vertical  affirmation,  which  she  used  when 
feeling  intensely,  the  girl  dismissed  him,  for  she 
realized  that  in  dealing  with  Gazonac  no  half- 
weighted  measures  would  serve  to  silence  his  suit. 

His  failure  stung  him  to  the  quick.  His  anger 
even  gathered  vehemence  through  the  night,  and 
in  the  morning  he  wore  that  rage,  as  he  did  his 
heart,  upon  his  sleeve.  There  were  few  in  those 
places  where  tongues  wagged  in  lieu  of  better 

117 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

employment,  who  did  not  know  that  he  had  under- 
taken the  conquest  of  Antoinette.  Possessed  of 
that  knowledge,  the  dullest  might  safely  hazard  the 
guess  that  his  present  passion  had  to  do  with  an 
unhappy  turn  in  his  love  affair. 

Poupet,  who  probably  knew  better  than  anyone 
else,  the  business  of  the  atelier's  patrons,  was  im- 
mediately struck  by  this  thought  when  Gazonac 
came  lowering  into  the  shop  on  Monday  morning. 

Ludwig  Froebel  was  just  rising  from  the  barber 
chair,  and  Villebois  was  lolling  on  the  window 
seat. 

"Michie  Gazonac,  yo  air  jus'  in  time,"  said  Pou- 
pet. "De  chair  is  empty!" 

"Go  to  the  devil!"  returned  the  Frenchman. 
" Where  is  Jallot?" 

"In  the  throes  of  his  muse.  Like  me,  you  will 
have  to  wait  upon  his  leisure!"  This  from  Ville- 
bois. 

"I  didn't  ask  you !"  snapped  Gazonac,  and  he 
wheeled  about  abruptly  to  Froebel,  who  was  gaz- 
ing at  him  in  wonderment.  "What  are  you  star- 
ing at?"  he  demanded. 

The  German  quailed.  "Nothing!"  he  mur- 
mured. 

"Then  look  in  the  glass!" 

The  quadroon  laughed.  "Oh,  such  a  humor!" 
he  cried.  "Ah  knew  dad  Michie  Gazonac  would 
run  into  some  bad  luck.  De  nighd  'fore  last  he 
lit  a  candle  in  de  atelier  when  dare  was  already  a 

118 


THE  COMPLAINT  OF  GAZONAC 

light." 

"What's  that  to  you?"  asked  Gazonac,  his 
wrath  mounting. 

"Nottin'  ad  all.  Only  Ah  tink  dad  Michie 
Froebel  can  tell  whad  de  trooble  iz  wid  yo'.  His 
daughter,  Mamzelle  Antoinette — no  doubt  she 
has  give  yo'  de  midden."  Poupet  laughed  again 
with  great  heartiness. 

Gazonac's  rage  mastered  him.  "You  hornet !" 
he  cried.  "I,  too,  have  a  sting!"  He  whipped 
out  the  blade  from  his  sword  cane,  and  made  after 
the  youth,  who,  in  great  alarm  dodged  about  the 
barber  chair,  while  Froebel,  in  fright,  sought 
refuge  upon  the  window  seat. 

Round  the  chair,  then  the  table,  lacquered 
screen  and  the  music  stand,  went  Poupet  and  Gaz- 
onac. 

"A  dollar  to  a  picayune  that  Poupet  does  the 
first  quarter  in  a  minute,"  shouted  Villebois  to 
Froebel,  who  called  for  help,  as  the  quadroon  cir- 
cled the  chair  again,  panting  in  terror,  and  made 
for  the  cabinet  door. 

There  he  turned  about  quickly,  dreading  a  stab 
in  the  back,  and  faced  his  pursuer,  who  began 
prodding  him  in  the  ribs  with  the  point  of  his 
blade.  Hysterical  with  fright,  Poupet  cried  out 
for  Jallot.  The  door  behind  him  suddenly 
opened,  and  he  fell  back  into  the  arms  of  his  mas- 
ter. 

"Spare  him,  Monsieur,"  exclaimed  Jallot  with 

119 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

a  smile.  "If  you  take  his  life,  who  will  shave 
me?" 

"I'll  tickle  his  ribs  for  him,"  stormed  Gazonac, 
threatening  Poupet. 

Jallot  made  a  gesture  of  protest.  "But  not  like 
that,  Monsieur.  Your  sword  is  not  a  club !"  He 
pushed  the  quadroon  aside.  "Hold  it  lightly — 
with  the  fingers,"  he  advised,  illustrating  with  the 
pen  he  carried.  "So — giving  easy  play  for  the 
wrist !" 

This  was  all  very  amusing  to  Villebois  and 
Poupet,  but  not  to  Gazonac.  "I  have  not  come 
to  you  for  instruction,"  he  said  in  a  dudgeon;  and 
added,  "His  impudence  is  intolerable — the  nig- 
ger!" 

"Monsieur  Gazonac,  the  boy's  father  was  as 
white  as  you,"  returned  Jallot.  "Poupet,  what  is 
the  trouble  ?" 

The  quadroon,  keeping  close  behind  his  mas- 
ter for  protection,  replied,  "Ah  juz  say  dad  he  get 
de  midden  from  Mamzelle  Froebel!" 

"A  chance  thrust  which  drew — blood !"  chuck- 
led Villebois,  who  had  ground  for  amusement, 
Jsince  he  knew  what  it  was  to  be  dismissed  by  An- 
toinette. 

"A  poor  jest,  Poupet!"  declared  Jallot.  "It's 
not  fair  to  strike  a  wounded  man." 

"Take  heart,  Monsieur,"  chuckled  Villebois, 
addressing  Gazonac;  "you  are  in  good  company. 
You  are  now  eligible  to  that  distinguished  clique 

1 20 


THE  COMPLAINT  OF  GAZONAC 

known  as  'The  Rejected  of  Mademoiselle  of  the 
Magnolias.' ' 

"My  Antoinette  will  none  of  you  fire-eaters 
have,"  asseverated  Froebel  seriously. 

Villebois  grinned.  "She  has  been  home  from 
abroad  less  than  a  year,  yet  already  the  clique 
musters  a  score !" 

"Perhaps  you  are  one !"  grunted  Gazonac. 

"I  own  it  with  pride,"  acknowledged  the  Cre- 
ole. "And  there  are  Dominique,  Grandpre,  St. 
Denis,  Crozat — a  noble  company.  By  and  by  the 
coterie  will  include  the  whole  male  population  of 
New  Orleans.  It  will  be  a  disgrace  not  to  have 
been  rejected  by  Mademoiselle  Froebel !" 

Jallot  nodded  his  approval  of  this  sentiment, 
whereupon  Gazonac  quizzed  him  intently.  "And 
— you!  Where  do  you  come  in?" 

"Oh,  leave  me  out,"  was  the  quick  reply. 

"I  think  it  is  you,  who  are  responsible  for  this 
clique,  which  Villebois  speaks  of  so  smartly,"  com- 
plained Gazonac.  "Mademoiselle  Froebel  comes 
here  thrice  a  week  for  dancing  lessons.  She 
needs  instruction — she  has  spent  her  life  in  Paris," 
he  concluded  sarcastically. 

"You  forget,  Monsieur,  that  I  am  exempt," 
countered  Jallot  with  gaiety,  "for  I  am  merely  a 
tonsorial  artist,  a  disciple  of  Terpsichore,  a  fencing 
master,  a  scribbler,  etc.,  etc.;  in  other  words — 
one  who  toils  with  head  and  hand — a  craftsman ! 
And  therefore,  according  to  our  Creole  code,  not 

121 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

a  gentleman!" 

Froebel  objected.  "Ach,  no,  Jallot!  The  gen- 
tleman is  what  he  is,  not  what  he  does!" 

"Your  true  gentleman  does  not  work  at  all," 
contended  Gazonac. 

"Quite  right,"  assented  Villebois.  "Jallot  has 
made  a  tidy  fortune — let  him  stop  and  be  a  gentle- 
man." 

Jallot  laughed. 

"Ah  tell  yo'  why  dad  man  work,"  volunteered 
Poupet.  "'Cause  he  pay  de  rent  o'  poor  Madame 
Laurent;  also  de  bills  o'  ol'  De  Neville;  dad  he  send 
de  'tites  Mamzelles  Galliard  to  school;  dad  he  give 
to  diz  an'  dad — keep  nottin'  fo'  hisself — " 

"You're  absurd!  Be  quiet,"  commanded  Jal- 
lot. 

"It  is  all  true,"  persisted  the  quadroon.  "Also 
he  start  dad  orphang  asylum  fo'  de  liddle  redemp- 
tioners !" 

"Will  you  keep  still?"  thundered  Jallot,  twist- 
ing his  assistant's  ear. 

Poupet  would  not  keep  still.  He  went  on : 
"Also  'cause  Mallet  no  got  money  'nuf  to  go  mar- 
rie  Colinette — he  buy  dem  houze  fo'  weddin' 
presend." 

Jallot,  seeing  nothing  else  to  do,  gave  the  quad- 
roon a  box  across  the  cheek,  which  sent  him  spin- 
ning. Nevertheless,  Poupet,  making  sure  of  his 
retreat  through  the  cabinet  door,  called  back, 
"Kick  me,  kick  me,  yo'  no  make  me  shud  up! 

122 


THE  COMPLAINT  OF  GAZONAC 

Hah,  Messieurs,  Ah  tell  you,  'Sieur  Jallot  more 
gentleman  den  any  whad  iz  here!"  With  that 
he  disappeared. 

Since  it  was  near  the  time  when  Jallot  expected 
Antoinette,  he  tactfully  cleared  the  atelier  of  his 
customers. 

As  Gazonac  left,  in  the  company  of  Villebois,  he 
saw  coming  down  the  Rue  du  Maine  a  young 
woman  who  looked  for  all  the  world  as  though 
summer  had  become  incarnate  in  the  form  of  An- 
toinette. He  uttered  an  oath,  and  turned  in  the 
other  direction. 

"She  is  very  difficult,"  observed  Villebois. 

"For  us !     But  not  for  him,  I  fancy." 

The  Creole's  leathery  countenance  became  a 
legend  of  surprise.  "You  are  not  serious?"  he 
asked. 

"You  will  presently  see  how  serious  I  am !  That 
fellow,  Jallot,  has  a  cunning  way  with  women.  A 
man  like  him,  with  passing  good  looks  and  a  su- 
perficial wit,  can  hoodwink  the  best  of  them;  but 
he  will  find  it  a  different  matter  when  it  comes 
to  dealing  with  a  man.  You  Creoles  have  a  say- 
ing, 'Joke  with  the  monkey  as  much  as  you  please, 
but  take  good  care  not  to  handle  his  tail.'  Jallot 
has  gone  too  far.  I  shall  fetch  him  up  with  a 
sharp  twist.  Au  rcvoir!  I  have  a  rendezvous 
with  Delicado." 

They  parted,  Villebois  to  seek  the  solace  of 
The  Pig  and  Whistle;  Gazonac  to  carry  out  a 

123 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

project  which  had  just  occurred  to  him,  and 
one  that  had  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  the 
Spaniard. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE   MALICE  OF  HIS   ENEMY 

Gazonac,  absorbed  in  thought,  walked  slowly 
along  the  Rue  Chartres,  and  by  the  time  he 
reached  his  destination — the  office  of  "Le  Moni- 
teur  de  la  Louisiane,"  on  the  Rue  Conti — he  had 
settled  the  problem  which  occupied  his  mind. 

"Le  Moniteur  de  la  Louisiane"  was  a  newspaper 
edited  and  owned  by  a  Creole  named  Allard,  a 
man  of  middle  age,  clever  and  unscrupulous.  He 
looked  like  a  pedagogue,  talked  like  a  pickpocket, 
and  lived  like  a  parasite.  Being  always  in  debt, 
he  could  have  lived  no  other  way.  His  money 
voyaged  from  him  by  one  route :  across  the  gam- 
bling table. 

He  made  a  friend  of  Gazonac  by  borrowing  from 
him,  and  increased  the  obligation  at  every  oppor- 
tunity. He  made  a  great  many  other  friends  in  the 
same  way.  It  is  not  every  one  who  could  care  for 
that  particular  sort  of  friendship,  but  Allard  prided 
himself  upon  his  debts.  He  kept  them  in  a  re- 
markable state  of  preservation,  explaining  that  to 
settle  an  obligation  was  to  lose  a  crony;  and  since 

125 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

he  valued  them  all  so  highly  he  grieved  at  the 
thought  of  losing  one.  Possibly  he  was  a  humor- 
ist. Certainly  he  was  possessed  of  a  keen  wit. 
Keen  is  precisely  what  it  was,  for  there  was  noth- 
ing gentle  in  his  jests.  They  emanated  from  his 
head,  not  his  heart.  He  said  of  himself,  "I  smell 
of  printer's  ink,  which  is  incense  compared  with 
the  odor  of  the  paragraphs  I  write." 

These  very  paragraphs  made  his  paper  famous, 
or  rather  infamous.  Composed  with  art,  they  im- 
plied much  more  than  he  dared  set  down,  but  rare- 
ly did  he  write  what  he  could  not  prove,  or  suffer 
a  scratch  of  his  pen  to  make  a  formidable  enemy. 

Through  goggles,  worn  athwart  the  bridge  of  a 
long,  thin  nose,  Allard  looked  up  at  Gazonac  as  the 
latter  opened  the  door.  A  counter,  reared  more 
for  physical  protection  than  anything  else,  sep- 
arated the  editor  from  the  visitor.  Behind  this 
barrier  was  a  long  table,  heaped  with  letter-press, 
pamphlets,  scraps  of  paper  and  thumbed  books  in 
disorder.  There  Allard  sat  in  his  shirt  sleeves, 
his  worn,  plum-colored  tail  coat  hanging  over  the 
back  of  the  chair.  Beyond  him,  amid  a  litter  of 
discarded  proofs  and  torn  copies  of  "Le  Moni- 
teur,"  lay  the  press,  the  arms  of  its  great  screw, 
like  a  stiffened  weather-vane,  pointing  aimlessly 
over  the  woolly  head  of  a  young  negro  who  was 
tentatively  performing  its  toilette.  Cases  of  type, 
brown  with  age,  and  bearing  the  marks  of  many 
an  inky  finger,  stood  upon  decrepit  stilts  against 

126 


THE  MALICE  OF  HIS  ENEMY 

the  dingy  wall  beside  a  crazy  rack  of  galleys,  and 
stared  blindly  across  the  room  at  an  immaculate 
bastion  of  white  paper,  all  ready  for  the  press. 
Dusty  heaps  of  old  lolios,  boxes  of  "pied"  fonts 
and  the  debris  of  years  undisturbed,  established 
without  a  doubt  the  fact  that  broom  and  dust 
brush  were  as  unwelcome  there  as  collectors  of  ac- 
counts. Permeating  the  entire  place,  was  the 
pungent  smell  of  printer's  ink,  mingling  with  a 
stale,  heavy  odor,  explained  by  endless  rows  of 
cigarette  stumps  which  decorated  the  editor's 
desk,  like  a  miniature  battery. 

"I  am  exceedingly  glad  to  see  you,  Monsieur," 
said  Allard,  putting  down  his  pen  and  approaching 
the  counter  to  shake  the  Frenchman's  hand.  "I 
was  saying  to  myself,  when  I  heard  your  tread, 
'Here  comes  a  bill  on  a  pair  of  determined  legs.' 
My  mind  immediately  arranged  the  rentier,  the 
tailor  and  the  printer's-ink-maker  upon  the  wheel, 
and  placed  my  last  picayune  on  the  tailor." 

"You  are  incorrigible,"  laughed  Gazonac.  "Hap- 
pily I  am  in  funds,  and  perhaps  jmi  will  do  me 
the  favor  to  accept  a  loan." 

"Since  you  put  it  that  way,  I  do  not  see  how  I 
could  well  refuse,"  said  Allard,  stroking  his  chin 
with  satisfaction. 

"How  much  do  you  owe  the  tailor?" 

"I  haven't  the  faintest  idea.  He  is  such  an  ad- 
mirable accountant  that  I  never  think  of  bothering 
my  head  about  the  figures." 

127 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

"He  would  doubtless  be  satisfied  with  fifty  dol- 
lars?" 

"He  would  be  thunderstruck,"  exclaimed  Allard. 
"It  will  be  like  discovering  a  nest  of  moidores  in 
an  old  waistcoat.  You  are  very  liberal !" 

Already  Gazonac  was  counting  out  the  money. 
"I  am  charmed  to  accommodate  you." 

"What  do  you  want  of  me?"  purred  Allard.  "I 
hope  I  shall  be  able  to  oblige  you."  He  was 
cautious,  even  with  his  friends. 

"I'll  write  it  down,"  returned  Gazonac.  The 
editor  gave  him  a  pen  and  a  sheet  of  paper.  After 
considerable  labor  he  finished  the  composition  of 
a  paragraph  and  offered  it  to  Allard.  The  editor 
looked  it  over  carefully  and  inquired,  "To  whom 
does  this  refer?" 

"To  a  barber!" 

"But  this  person  seems  to  be  more  than  that." 

"He  is!" 

"You  mean  Victor  Jallot?" 

"Yes!" 

Allard  grinned  dubiously.  "He  has  a  long  arm !" 

"I  will  protect  you.      Be  assured  of  that!" 

"Very  well.  I  will  publish  the  paragraph  in  my 
next  issue." 

"When  will  that  be?" 

Allard  leisurely  rolled  a  cigarette  as  he  replied, 
"Either  on  Wednesday  or  Thursday.  Certainly 
not  on  Friday,  but  possibly  on  Saturday." 

It  was  late  on  Thursday  afternoon  when  Gazo- 

128 


THE  MALICE  OF  HIS  ENEMY 

nac  received  one  of  the  first  copies  of  "Le  Moni- 
teur"  from  the  press,  and  with  great  satisfaction 
read  his  paragraph,  which  occupied  a  conspicuous 
position  under  an  account  of  a  ball  at  the  Gover- 
nor's house. 

The  next  morning  he  went  to  the  atelier  to  be 
shaved,  and  while  Poupet's  back  was  turned,  laid 
the  paper  on  the  window  seat.  It  was  still  there 
at  eleven  o'clock  when  Jallot  came  out  of  his 
cabinet,  watch  in  hand,  and  inquired  of  the  quad- 
roon, "Has  Mademoiselle  Froebel  arrived?" 

"No,  Michie!"  replied  Poupet,  who  was  tuning 
his  violin,  while  Jerome,  seated  demurely  upon  the 
music-stand,  watched  him  with  interest. 

The  barber  looked  at  his  watch  again.  It  was 
five  minutes  after  eleven.  Antoinette  was  usually 
prompt  on  the  hour.  He  began  pacing  the  floor 
restlessly,  turning  at  every  sound  from  the  court 
with  the  hope  that  it  was  her  step.  Ten  minutes 
past  eleven !  Now  he  fancied  that  something  ill 
must  have  befallen  her;  and  he  became  convinced 
that  she  was  in  dire  distress.  His  impulse  was 
to  go  in  search  of  her,  but  his  reason  argued  that 
he  would  be  making  a  fool  of  himself. 

It  was  not  at  all  like  Jallot  to  let  his  imagination 
run  on  so  extravagantly,  but  a  change  had  come 
over  him.  Where  once  he  had  looked  forward 
with  mere  pleasure  to  the  hours  with  Antoinette, 
he  now  anticipated  them  with  craving.  And  as  he 
waited  that  morning  it  suddenly  became  clear  to 

1 29 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

him  that  he  was  what  they  called  "in  love"  with 
her. 

He  asked  himself,  fearfully,  had  God,  the  Great 
Conjuror,  done  this,  or  was  it  the  working  of  a 
malevolent  fate?  He  had  been  happy  in  her  dear 
companionship.  How  would  it  be  now  that  he 
was  conscious  of  a  mastering  passion? 

His  heart  became  cold  with  misgiving,  and 
again  hot  with  hope.  It  was  neither  his  position 
nor  his  degree  which  cast  shadows  across  the 
future,  but  the  shade  of  himself,  showing  small 
and  impotent,  as  the  true  lover's  must.  How  in- 
significant he  seemed,  how  humble  he  felt  before 
her  image  which  he  enveloped  in  a  glory  like  the 
mantle  of  the  sun! 

Closing  his  eyes  to  that  imaginary  light,  he  be- 
held a  thousand  obstacles  looming  before  him.  He 
saw  himself  a  dwarfed  figure  surmounting  one  bar- 
rier only  to  encounter  another.  In  a  twinkling 
the  mound  of  doubt  became  the  mountain  of 
despair,  and  far  beyond  that,  on  the  uppermost 
height,  surrounded  by  the  moat  of  convention  and 
the  battlement  of  pride,  lay  the  citadel  of  her  heart. 

Before  she  rapped  at  the  door  that  morning  he 
knew  that  she  was  there.  His  hand  was  on  the 
latch  as  the  knocker  fell  from  her  fingers.  She 
entered  with  her  ever-radiant,  "Bonjonr,  Mon- 
sieur !"  and  added,  "Pardon — I  am  late — it  was  my 
modiste !" 

He  bowed.      He  did  not  dare  to  speak.      She 

130 


THE  MALICE  OF  HIS  ENEMY 

caught  sight  of  Jerome,  who  came  running  to  her, 
and  caught  him  in  her  arms  and  kissed  him.  "How 
pretty  you  look  in  your  new  clothes,  Jerome !"  she 
exclaimed,  holding  him  off  and  examining  him. 

"Papoute  give  me  dem!"  he  explained. 

"Papoute?"    She  was  puzzled. 

"That's  Creole  for  'little  father,'"  Jallot  ven- 
tured. 

"Him!"  cried  Jerome,  gaily  pointing  at  the 
barber. 

Antoinette  laughed  a  little.  "I  never  heard  any- 
thing so  cunning,"  she  declared. 

"Papoute  can  take  money  out  of  your  ears," 
confided  the  boy. 

Even  Caresse,  who  stood  by,  became  interested. 

"He'll  do  it  for  you,  won't  you,  Papoute?"  It 
was  an  assertion  and  a  plea  in  one  breath. 
"Please!"  he  entreated,  seeing  Jallot  shake  his 
head. 

Antoinette,  observing  this  by-play,  insisted  that 
she  would  be  charmed  to  have  her  maitre  dc  dance 
take  a  coin  from  her  ear.  She  had  never  seen  Jal- 
lot embarrassed  in  the  least  and  she  was  woman 
enough  to  delight  in  thus  tormenting  him  a  little. 

He  smiled,  as  much  as  to  say:  "You  order — I 
obey !"  and,  turning  from  her,  surreptitiously  took 
the  flower,  which  adorned  the  lapel  of  his  coat,  and 
palmed  it.  "If  Mademoiselle  will  be  so  gracious 
as  to  permit!"  He  spoke  then  with  composure. 
"You  see — nothing."  He  showed  his  hand  ap- 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

parently  empty,  made  a  pass  over  Antoinette's 
head,  stretched  out  his  arm  and  slowly  opened  his 
fist,  discovering  a  rose  in  his  palm. 

"Wonderful,  Monsieur!"  declared  the  girl  play- 
fully. 

Jerome  was  puzzled.  "Papoute,  you  took 
/money  from  my  ear,"  he  complained. 

"Of  course,"  returned  Jallot  readily;  "rupees 
from  yours — roses  from  Mademoiselle's !" 

She  smiled  and  accepted  the  flower  he  offered 
her. 

"I  want  a  rose !"  spoke  up  the  boy. 

"You  shall  have  this  one,"  said  Antoinette  in  a 
sacrificial  tone,  "if  you  will  come  with  me  and  put 
on  my  slippers." 

"And  you,  Mademoiselle,  shall  have  a  whole 
bouquet  from  my  garden,"  declared  the  master 
with  gallantry. 

Antoinette  gave  him  a  look  of  thanks,  and,  tak- 
ing the  hand  of  Jerome,  followed  Caresse  into  the 
dressing  room.  They  were  out  again  in  a  few 
minutes,  and  presently  Jallot  was  transported  to 
Elysium  at  the  touch  of  his  pupil's  fingers  as  he 
led  her  through  the  steps  of  a  dance.  When  at 
last  she  expressed  a  desire  to  rest,  he  went  with 
her  to  the  window-seat. 

"You  think  I  am  improving?"  she  asked. 

"I  am  in  despair,"  he  exclaimed.  "I  really  have 
nothing  to  teach  you." 

"Then  I  need  no  more  lessons?"  she  teased. 

132 


THE  MALICE  OF  HIS  ENEMY 

An  almost  tragic  look  came. over  his  face.  "Mon 
Dieu!  No,  Mademoiselle!  I  shall  invent  some 
new  steps  at  once !" 

"And  I  shall  learn  them — if  you  will  be  patient !" 

"Patient!"  He  looked  away  for  fear  his  eyes 
would  betray  him.  "If  you  only  knew  how  happy 
I  am  to  instruct  you — " 

"And  I  to  be  instructed !" 

"You  are  very  kind  to  me,  Mademoiselle." 

"You  are  kind  to  everyone." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  in  way  of  protest. 

"Oh,  I  have  heard,"  she  went  on;  "and  I  have 
seen.  Now,  there  is  little  Jerome.  His  father, 
as  I  learned,  was  a  worthless  Creole  who  died, 
leaving  him  absolutely  destitute.  Caresse  and  I 
found  him  crying  on  a  door-step.  I  am  sure  that 
it  was  more  than  kind  of  you  to  give  the  boy  a 
home." 

"You  sent  him  to  me,  Mademoiselle.  That  was 
sufficient  to  engage  my  sympathy;  and  then,  like 
me,  he  is  an  orphan." 

"But  you  were  never  in  such  distress  as  he." 

"Worse,"  said  Jallot.  "I  came  to  New  Orleans 
a  refugee  from  France  in  the  days  of  the  terror: 
and  though  my  way  was  paid,  the  ship's  agents 
seized  me  when  I  landed  here — sold  me  into  bond- 
age until  I  should  work  out  the  price  of  my  pas- 
sage." 

Antoinette  looked  at  him  with  new  interest. 
"Ah,  you  were  a  redemptioner!"  There  was  a 

133 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

note  of  triumph  in  her  voice. 

"Yes,  I  was,  and  am,  and  must  be,  until  I  shall 
have  struck  off  the  shackles  of  my  shop." 

They  were  silent  for  a  little  while.  Then  she 
reflected,  "You  must  have  been  very  young  when 
you  came  to  Louisiana." 

"I  was  fifteen,  Mademoiselle !" 

"You  came  alone?" 

"I  arrived  alone;  my  mother  died  on  the  voy- 
age." 

The  velvety  quality  of  her  eyes  showed  lumi- 
nously to  him.  He  became  aware  then  of  the 
woman's  infinite  tenderness  which  had  so  long 
been  concealed  from  him  under  an  imperious  de- 
meanor. Her  expression  invited  his  confidence. 

"I  was  more  fortunate  than  many  of  my  fellow- 
refugees,"  he  went  on.  "I  fell  into  good  hands. 
Old  Dominique,  the  barber,  bought  me.  I  worked 
out  my  redemption  in  his  shop.  I  became  his  as- 
sistant, and  when  the  time  came  for  him  to  go,  he 
left  me  his  clientele." 

"Who — ?"  she  hesitated.  He  encouraged  her 
with  a  smile.  "Who  was  your  father,  Monsieur?" 

"A  soldier  of  France,"  he  answered  simply;  but 
there  was  a  ring  in  his  voice  that  spoke  of  pride; 
and  though  she  was  interested  to  know  more,  she 
felt  that  there  was  the  end  of  the  chapter.  But  she 
speculated  tyoon  it,  for  it  said  so  much  and  yet  so 
little.  Whoever  his  father  was,  she  was  sure  of 
one  thing — that  he  had  been  brave. 

134 


THE  MALICE  OF  HIS  ENEMY 

"A  moment  ago,  Monsieur,"  she  resumed;  "you 
spoke  of  'striking  off  the  shackles  of  your  shop.' 
You  mean  by  that  that  you  are  not  always  going 
to  be—?" 

"A  barber — and  all  the  rest  of  it?"  he  cut  in.  "I 
hope  not,  but  I  must  be  patient;  I  must  put  by  a 
little  sum  before  I  can  realize  my  ambition." 

She  demurred  before  asking:     "What  is  that?" 

He  could  not  but  smile,  she  was  so  sweetly 
serious.  "I  have  some  messages  for  the  world." 

"What  a  pretty  way  to  put  it,"  she  commented. 
"I  understand,"  she  nodded  dreamily.  "I  remem- 
ber in  your  play — " 

"You  got  my  message?"  he  questioned  her 
eagerly,  flinging  out  his  expressive  hand  in  be- 
seechment. 

"I  am  not  sure,  but  you  made  me  long  to  do 
something  for  the  unhappy — to  aid  the  struggles 
of  the  lowly." 

Antoinette  illustrated  her  words  with  an  action 
so  , divine  that  Jallot,  his  heart  in  his  eyes,  cried 
out :  "You  did  get  my  message !" 

She  wondered  a  little  at  his  intense  enthusiasm, 
but  ascribed  it  to  the  artist's  gratitude  for  her  ap- 
preciation. "It  is  a  fine  thing,  Monsieur,  to  make 
one  feel  like  that,"  she  continued;  "but  it  seems 
wrong  that  you,  who  bear  such  messages,  should 
squander  here" — she  made  a  vague  gesture — "the 
best  of  your  youth  and  inspiration." 

"Yet  if  I  give  up  this  shop,  Mademoiselle,  I  must 

135 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

lose  you  as  a  pupil,"  he  submitted,  without  any 
suggestion  of  being  gallant. 

"Though  not  as  a  friend,"  she  assured  him. 

"A  friend!"  he  exclaimed,  and  his  voice  shook 
a  little.  "What  a  beginning!"  His  tone  softened 
and  a  look  of  yearning  appeared  in  his  face,  as  he 
added :  "Ah,  Mademoiselle,  if  you — " 

"I — I  shall  be  your  friend,"  she  interrupted, 
hastily  rising.  "I  have  overstayed  my  time — I 
must  go!" 

"You  will  come  for  your  lesson  on  Monday?" 
he  anxiously  inquired. 

"Oh,  yes,  Monsieur!"  So  saying,  she  roused 
Caresse,  who  had  fallen  asleep  on  the  bench,  and 
disappeared  into  the  dressing  room. 

Jerome,  having  waited  dutifully  until  Jallot  was 
unoccupied,  now  came  running  to  him.  "Papoute, 
make  me  dance  too,"  he  besought. 

Jallot  caught  the  boy  up  in  his  arms.  "Of 
course !  That  is  part  of  every  gentleman's  educa- 
tion. You  shall  fence  as  well !"  He  was  in  high 
spirits.  He  placed  Jerome  in  the  barber  chair  and 
advised  him  to  detain  Mademoiselle  Froebel  while 
he  gathered  a  bouquet  for  her. 

Left  to  his  own  devices,  the  boy  sat  still  but  a 
moment.  Looking  about  for  some  diversion,  he 
saw  the  copy  of  "Le  Moniteur,"  where  Gazonac 
had  left  it  on  the  window  seat.  He  slipped  out  of 
the  chair,  and  picking  it  up,  amused  himself  by 
pretending  to  read  after  the  manner  of  a  man. 

136 


THE  MALICE  OF  HIS  ENEMY 

When  Antoinette,  bonnetted  for  the  street,  reap- 
peared and  saw  this  precocious  performance,  she 
tiptoed  to  the  chair  and  kissed  the  boy  over  his 
shoulder.  He  affected  to  be  too  much  engrossed 
to  notice  this  demonstration. 

"You  dear  child,"  she  exclaimed;  "can  you 
read?" 

"Yes,  Mamzelle,"  he  returned,  and  to  prove  his 
erudition,  pointed  to  a  line  and  began  spelling  out 
an  account  of  a  dance  at  the  Governor's  house. 
Antoinette's  eyes,  running  ahead  of  his,  encount- 
ered a  paragraph,  which  immediately  challenged 
her  attention.  She  drew  the  paper  from  Jerome 
and  read  to  herself: 

"A  certain  Don  Juan,  in  the  person  of  a  barber, 
whose  affairs  with  a  quadroon  are  notorious,  is 
boasting  of  his  conquest  of  a  charming  and  dis- 
tinguished young  woman  to  whom  he  gives  private 
instruction  in  his  atelier.  ..." 

Antoinette  gave  a  little  exclamation  of  amaze- 
ment, and  read  on  with  feverish  haste : 

"Such  vaunting  would  be  odious  enough  on 
the  part  of  one  of  her  own  station,  but  coming 
from  a  barber,  it  is  intolerable.  The  friends  of 
the  young  woman  in  question  would  do  well  to 
amputate  the  tongue  of  this  fellow." 

For  a  moment  Antoinette  stood  dumfounded, 
the  paper  crunched  in  her  hand.  "It  means  me — 
and — Jallot!"  she  gasped.  The  thought,  which 
had  merely  staggered  her  at  first,  now  infuriated 

137 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

her.  Those  great,  velvety  eyes  grew  small  and  the 
flame  of  a  passionate  resentment  danced  in  them. 
She  threw  down  the  paper  and  started  toward  the 
court  door,  as  Jallot  entered  from  the  garden,  his 
arms  filled  with  roses.  He  smilingly  intercepted 
her  and  would  have  offered  the  flowers;  but,  seeing 
the  whiteness  of  her  face  and  a  look  of  disdain  in 
her  eyes,  he  drew  back  in  astonishment. 

"I  have  had  my  last  lesson,  Monsieur,"  she  an- 
nounced ominously.  "Send  your  bill !" 

She  was  gone  before  he  could  assemble  his  scat- 
tered wits,  and  he  stood  still,  gazing  helplessly 
after  her.  Jallot  had  never  felt  so  deep  a  hurt.  He 
lost  sense  of  where  he  was  for  a  moment,  remem- 
bering only  the  contempt  of  her  glance,  the  scorn 
of  her  words. 

He  did  not  see  Jerome,  who  was  gathering  up 
the  roses  he  had  dropped,  or  Poupet,  who,  having 
witnessed  Antoinette's  reading  of  "Le  Moniteur/' 
retrieved  the  paper  and  scanned  it  hurriedly.  He, 
too,  read  Gazonac's  paragraph  and  then  handed 
the  sheet  to  his  master. 

Jallot's  eyes,  following  Poupet's  finger  on  the 
printed  pnge,  read  the  canard  with  gathering 
wrath.  When  he  finished,  he  struck  it  with  his 
fist,  and  gave  an  exclamation  of  understanding. 

"Poupet,  my  hat — my  sword-cane !"  He  spoke 
quietly,  but  with  a  timbre  of  voice  which  made 
his  assistant  tremble.  Nevertheless  the  quadroon 
made  haste  to  stroke  down  the  nap  of  his  master's 

138 


THE  MALICE  OF  HIS  ENEMY 

beaver  and  to  test  the  spring  of  his  weaponed 
walking  stick.  As  he  handed  these  articles  to 
Jallot,  he  ventured  to  ask:  "Where  yo'  goin', 
Michie?" 

"To  give  the  editor  a  private  lesson  in  fencing," 
was  the  laconic  reply. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

AN  EDITOR  WITH  A  SENSE  OF  HUMOR 

Up  the  Rue  Royale  went  Jallot  at  a  vigorous 
gait,  which  soon  brought  him  to  the  office  of  "Le 
Moniteur  de  la  Louisiane."  The  editor  was  not 
within,  but  he  learned  from  the  colored  attendant 
that  Allard  might  be  found  at  the  Cafe  des  Em- 
igres. Back  across  the  city,  by  the  way  of  the 
Rue  Chartres,  lazily  alive  with  its  shops  and  ped- 
dlers, who  called  out  their  wares  in  monoto- 
nous drones,  stalked  the  barber.  He  knew  the 
Cafe  des  Emigres  well.  It  was  just  around  the 
corner  from  his  atelier,  near  the  Rue  St.  Philippe, 
and  was  the  headquarters  of  the  St.  Domingans, 
for  there  only  could  they  obtain  their  favorite 
liqueur  "le  petit  gouave."  The  cabaret  was  some- 
what more  commodious  than  The  Pig  and  Whis- 
tle, and  boasted  of  .two  stories,  with  a  grilled 
balcony  overhanging  the  banquette.  A  gaily 
striped  awning  protected  its  front  from  the  hot 
sun,  and  under  it  gathered  the  usual  clump  of 
cafe  habitues. 

Some  of  them  nodded  to  Jallot  as  he  passed  in, 
140 


WITH  A  SENSE  OF  HUMOR 

and  one  said:  "Did  you  ever  see  anyone  walk  so 
briskly  in  June  as  that  barber!" 

The  old  Domingan  proprietor  of  the  cabaret 
came  forward  and  greeted  him. 

"Do  you  know  Monsieur  Allard,  the  editor  of 
"  'Le  Moniteur?'  "  inquired  Jallot. 

"Oh,  yes,  Monsieur.  There  he  sits,  by  himself, 
in  the  corner."  He  jerked  his  thumb  over  his 
shoulder. 

Most  of  the  tables  were  surrounded  by  chat- 
tering groups,  but  Allard  seemed  content  to  drink 
his  liqueur  in  solitude. 

"Will  you  kindly  say  to  him  that  Victor  Jallot 
begs  the  honor  of  his  acquaintance?" 

"Certainly,  Monsieur!"  The  old  Domingan 
went  directly  to  Allard.  Jallot  watched  them  out 
of  the  corner  of  his  eye  as  they  held  a  consultation 
in  whispers.  He  saw  the  editor  shift  uneasily, 
glance  furtively  toward  the  door  and  at  last  nod 
in  reluctant  consent. 

"He  will  be  delighted,  Monsieur  Jallot,"  lied 
the  keeper  of  the  cafe. 

The  barber  followed  him  to  where  Allard  sat, 
and  when  he  had  been  introduced,  accepted,  with 
a  bow,  the  chair  placed  opposite  the  editor. 

"Gouave?"  asked  Allard,  tapping  his  glass. 

"Yes,  Monsieur;  but  permit  me! — your  goblet 
wants  refilling."  Jallot  called  to  a  yellow  boy  in 
a  white  apron  and  gave  him  the  order.  "You  are 
doubtless  curious  to  know  why  I  have  intruded 

141 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

upon  your  reveries,  Monsieur,"  he  began. 

"I  am  never  curious,"  returned  the  editor  in  a 
monotone,  lazily  flicking  a  fly  that  browsed  on  the 
rim  of  his  glass.  "But  since  you  apparently  ex- 
pect me  to  be,  I  ask  you  why  I  am  honored  with 
your  attention?" 

"Jallot  studied  his  vis-a-vis  before  replying.  "It 
is  a  very  delicate  matter.  It  is  your  waistcoat!" 

"My  waistcoat?"  Allard  looked  down  in  faint 
surprise  at  the  garment,  which  was  of  a  dingy  red 
color. 

"Yes !  It  does  not  harmonize  with  the  rest  of 
your  toilette;  indeed,  though  I  regret  to  say  so, 
it  is  in  such  bad  taste  as  to  be — pardon  me ! — of- 
fensive." 

Politely  and  in  a  drawl,  Allard  rejoined,  "I  am 
sorry  for  that,  Monsieur,  but  it  suits  my  fancy.  I 
expect  to  wear  it  the  season  out." 

"I  protest,"  persisted  Jallot  in  an  even  tone;  "it 
is  a  blot  in  the  lovely  color  scheme  of  nature." 

Allard  waited  until  the  boy  served  the  liqueurs, 
and  then  remarked:  "I  hate  to  pain  you,  but  I 
must  confess  to  a  certain  affection  for  this  waist- 
coat, and  much  as  I  should  like  to  please  you  by 
discarding  it,  I  really  must  refuse." 

"This  is  a  serious  matter,  Monsieur  Allard.  Will 
nothing  move  you?" 

"No,  Monsieur  Jallot,  I  am  obdurate  upon  that 
point.  But  in  lieu  of  changing  my  waistcoat,"  he 
temporized,  "is  there  nothing  else  I  can  do  to  con- 

142 


WITH  A  SENSE  OF  HUMOR 

ciliate  you?" 

The  barber  smiled.  "Yes!  One  thing;  give  me 
the  honor  of  killing  you." 

"Ah,  a  duel?"    This  with  supreme  indifference. 

"You  understand  me  perfectly!" 

"But  1  am  not  so  skilled  with  the  sword — " 

"As  with  the  pen?"  interjected  Jallot. 

"Quite  so!" 

"Then  I  will  give  you  fencing  lessons — gratis !" 

Allard  grinned  at  this  retort  and  said:  "You 
are  very  kind,  but  you  would  discover  in  me  a 
backward  pupil;  and  I  fancy  that  you  are  impatient 
— about  the  waistcoat!" 

"Exactly!  I  am  impatient!  Yet  there  are 
other  weapons  beside  the  foil.  Custom  gives  you 
the  choice."  Jallot  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and 
took  a  sip  of  sirop. 

"I  should  suggest  the  pen,"  returned  the  editor, 
monotonously.  "That  would  be  just !  You  are 
skilled  with  it,  yourself,  as  I  can  testify,  having 
read  some  excellent  verse  of  your  composition." 

Jallot  bowed  gravely.  "I  am  highly  compli- 
mented, Monsieur.  Your  idea  is  worth  consider- 
ing, provided  you  should  print  something  like  this 
in  your  newspaper:  Eh — I,  Marcel  Allard,  editor 
of  Le  Moniteur  de  la  Louisiane,  am  a  scoundrel 
and  a  liar — " 

"An  interesting  beginning,"  interposed  the  other 
indolently. 

"Wait !"  commanded  Jallot.     "I,  Marcel  Allard, 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

etc.,  etc.,  am  a  scoundrel  and  a  liar,  having  pub- 
lished in  my  issue  of  such  a  date  a  scurrilous  para- 
graph about  a  barber,  accusing  him  of  notorious 
relations  with  an  unnamed  person  of  color,  and  as- 
serting that  he  vaunts  his  conquest  of  a  certain 
young  lady  to  whom  he  gives  private  lessons  in 
his  atelier — " 

"No  wonder  that  my  waistcoat  offends  you — " 
Unheeding   the   interruption,   Jallot    went    on : 
"The  aforesaid  barber  is  a  gentleman  of  unblem- 
ished character,  and  the  paragraph  referred  to  is  a 
piece  of  arrant  mendacity." 

"Your  pen  has  a  point,  Monsieur!" 
"Wait !  I  have  not  yet  driven  it  home,"  objected 
Jallot,  and  continued:  "I,  Marcel  Allard,  humbly 
apologize  for  the  slander,  and  trust  that  this  re- 
traction of  the  same  will  give  the  above  mentioned 
gentleman  every  satisfaction  without  recourse  to 
a  passage  of  arms." 

"Admirably     put,"     commented     the     editor, 
"though,  perhaps,  unnecessarily  severe." 

The  barber  paused,  in  the  process  of  rolling  a 
cigarette,  to  inquire:    "You  approve  of  it?" 

"In  part,  yes !      But  let  me  own,  in  all  serious- 
ness, Monsieur,  that  I  am  surprised  to  learn  that 
the  offensive  paragraph  refers  to  you." 
"Your  remark  requires  explanation !" 
"The    paragraph    was  written  by  a  friend    of 
mine,"  drawled  Allard.     "He  assured  me  it  was  a 
jest.    I  published  it  as  such." 

144 


WITH  A  SENSE  OF  HUMOR 

"I  object  to  that  jest,"  retorted  Jallot  sharply. 
"You  will  give  me  the  name  of  its  author  and  print 
the  retraction,  Monsieur,  or  I  shall  kill  you — with- 
out lessons." 

"My  dear  fellow,  we  have  no  cause  to  quarrel — 
over  my  waistcoat.  The  author  of  the  paragraph 
is  Rene  Gazonac." 

"Ah !"  exclaimed  the  barber,  in  an  ominous  tone, 
adding  with  sarcasm,  "Then  it  was  a  great  jest!" 

"As  to  the  refraction:  I  would  edit  your 
phraseology  somewhat — merely  in  so  far  as  it 
refers  to  me  as  a  liar  and  a  scoundrel."  The  editor 
pushed  his  glasses  up  on  his  nose  and  looked 
through  them  at  his  inquisitor  with  an  expression 
of  benevolence. 

Jallot  blew  three  perfect  rings  of  smoke  into  the 
air  and  observed :  "Between  us,  I  have  no  doubt 
we  can  find  words  equally  fitting." 

"Let  us  say — more  delicate,"  urged  Allard. 

"But  the  rest  should  stand !" 

The  editor  drummed  on  the  table  as  he  con- 
sidered. "Don't  you  think  we  might  discover 
something  more  euphonious  than  'arrant  men- 
dacity?'" he  presently  ventured. 

"We  might  make  it  'machiavelian  mendacity,'  ' 
gibed  Jallot. 

Allard  pressed  his  hand  suddenly  to  his  heart 
as  though  he  had  received  a  mortal  hurt.  "Ah, 
oh !  I  am  done  for,"  he  gasped.  "You  have  won, 
Monsieur!" 

MS 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

With  a  laugh,  Jallot  held  out  his  hand  across 
the  table.  "Then  let  us  be  friends!" 

"I  agree  to  that,"  said  Allard,  accepting  the 
other's  hand.  "We  might  well  collaborate  upon 
the  paragraph." 

"At  once — while  we  are  in  the  mood." 

"Our  host  keeps  pens  and  papers!"  Allard 
rapped  on  the  table.  The  yellow  boy  responded 
and,  at  the  editor's  direction,  set  writing  materials 
before  thejn. 

Jallot  began  the  composition  of  the  retraction. 
Presently  he  looked  up.  "I  think  we  might  find  a 
substitute  for  'scurrilous,'  "  he  remarked. 

"What  do  you  say  to  'sycophantic?' ' 

"I  should  prefer  'vituperious !' ' 

They  debated  the  question  and  finally  settled 
upon  "libellous,"  with  the  understanding  that  the 
word  should  in  no  wise  be  construed  to  mean  that 
there  was  ground  for  further  action  against  the 
editor.  They  also  disputed  the  employment  of  a 
phrase  here  and  there,  but  finally  drafted  a  para- 
graph which  each  pronounced  satisfactory. 

The  affair  being  amicably  settled,  and  Allard 
promising  that  the  retraction  should  appear  in  the 
next  issue  of  "Le  Moniteur,"  the  barber  left  the 
Cafe  des  Emigres  in  a  more  amiable  frame  of  mind 
than  he  had  entered  it.  His  serenity,  however, 
was  of  short  duration.  On  his  way  up  the  Rue 
Chartres,  he  encountered  Antoinette  coming  gaily 
down  the  street  under  the  amorous  pilotage  of  a 

146 


WITH  A  SENSE  OF  HUMOR 

Creole  beau,  and  the  convoy  of  Carcsse.  The 
girl  affected  not  to  see  Jallot  as  he  stepped  from 
the  narrow  banquette  into  the  mud  in  order  that 
she  might  pass.  This  cut  served  to  gall  the  wound 
he  had  received,  and  to  sharpen  his  already  bitter 
ifeeling  toward  Gazonac.  It  was  fortunate  for 
both  men  that  they  were  not  destined  to  meet 
until  a  night  had  taken  counsel  with  Jallot's  resent- 
ment; but,  in  the  meantime,  his  philosophy,  which 
had  served  him  well  in  many  a  former  strait,  now 
proved  impotent  in  this  his  hour  of  discomfiture. 
So,  when  he  reached  the  atelier,  his  spirits  flagged 
and  through  the  eyes  of  an  afflicted  heart  his  whole 
world  looked  shadowed  over  with  an  impenetrable 
gloom. 

He  took  refuge  in  his  cabinet,  refused  himself  to 
all  comers,  and  drove  his  pen  on  through  the  day- 
light hours,  on  deep  into  the  night  until  the  can- 
dles spluttered  and  burned  faint  in  the  first  glow 
of  the  morning.  Out  of  his  hurt  and  his  hate  he 
wrought,  levying  upon  his  poignant  emotions, 
seizing  the  inspiration  of  an  acute  suffering,  and 
welding  the  play  of  his  keen  feelings  into  the 
drama,  which  he  had  falteringly  begun,  and  now 
finished  in  swift,  vibrant  periods,  like  the  cries  of 
violins  in  the  finale  of  a  minor  symphony. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A  LOTTERY,   A   LOVE  AFFAIR  AND  AN   INVITATION 

When  Jallot,  looking  little  the  worse  for  his  all- 
night  labors,  came  into  the  atelier  the  next  morn- 
ing, Poupet  was  polishing  the  foils. 

"Michie,"  began  the  quadroon,  "what  day  dese 
is — hem?" 

"It  should  be  Saturday,"  replied  the  barber, 
picking  up  the  mail  and  taking  it  to  the  window 
seat  to  read. 

"Yes,  bud  whad  else,  Michie  ?" 

"The  seventeenth  of  June !" 

"No!  You'  fete  day!"  announced  Poupet 
triumphantly. 

"So  it  is!    I  must  be  getting  old!" 

The  quadroon  laughed.  "Yo'  air  only  thirdy- 
fo'." 

"I  am  getting  old,  Poupet.  I  shall  soon  be 
begging  you  to  forget  my  birthdays." 

"Yez,  iv  yo'  wish,"  sighed  the  youth;  "bud  Ah 
always  should  remember,  fo'  Ah  tink  o'  dad  kind- 
ness whad  yo'  have  been  to  me." 

Jallot  looked  up  from  his  letter.     "I  am  repaid 

148 


A  LOTTERY  AND  A  LOVE  AFFAIR 

by  your  gratitude.  You  are  a  good  fellow,  Poupet. 
I  am  glad  we  are  friends." 

The  quadroon,  who  was  a  creature  of  emotion, 
almost  wept  at  this.  He  put  his  hand  in  his 
pocket  and  took  out  a  ragged  bit  of  cardboard. 
"Michie,"  he  resumed,  "Ah  wish  yo'  led  me  give 
you' — "  He  finished  by  holding  out  the  card  to 
Jallot,  who  asked  as  he  took  it: 

"What's  this?" 

"A  loddery  ticked.  Ah  play  me  doze  noomber 
whad  yo'  help  me  to  make." 

"A  lottery  ticket,"  echoed  the  barber.  "Well, 
I  hope  it  will  bring  you  luck." 

Poupet  refused  to  take  the  ticket  back.  "Dese 
a  lill'  presend  dad  Ah  like  fo'  to  make  on  yo'  fete- 
day,"  he  explained. 

"For  me? — my  birthday?"  Jallot  was  surprised 
and  affected  great  delight. 

"Yez,  Michie.  Ah  wish  dad  yo'  accep'  de  same 
wid  my  complemend  iv  yo'  plez." 

The  master  laid  a  hand  on  Poupet's  shoulder, 
saying:  "Man  cher  enfant,  this  is  magnificent  of 
you.  I  accept  it — as  a  gift  of  one  friend  to  an- 
other— only  with  this  condition:  should  it  draw  a 
prize,  we  share  the  spoil." 

"Oh,  thang  yo',  Michie,"  exclaimed  the  over- 
joyed youth,  and  supplemented,  with  conviction: 
"It  goin'  to  make  us  rich  fo'  de  day  Ah  bought  de 
ticket  Ah  meed  someboddie  wid  a  squint  eye. 
Dad  iz  de  be'  luck  possib'." 

149 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

"I'm  glad  of  that.  We  cannot  have  too  much 
luck." 

"Perhaps  we  get  so  much  as  one  hoondred 
thousan'  dollaV  Poupet's  eyes  grew  big. 

Jallot  placed  the  ticket  in  an  inside  pocket,  with 
an  air  of  taking  elaborate  precautions  against 
losing  it.  "But  we  must  not  be  disappointed  if 
we  should  draw  but  ten  thousand — hcinf" 

"Yo'  don't  believe  so  much  as  me  in  dad  lod- 
dery;  bud  yo'  see  befo'  long,  Michie." 

"You  are  mistaken,  Poupet.  I  have  great 
faith  in  that  number,  only  I  do  not  believe  in  build- 
ing your  hopes  too  high."  He  resumed  the  read- 
ing of  his  mail,  but  soon  paused  to  ask:  "Have  I 
any  appointments  to-day?" 

"No,  Michie.  Ah  took  care  dad  yo'  have  dese 
fo'  a  holiday." 

"Then  I  shall  go  to  the  Tivoli  for  luncheon.  I 
have  an  invitation  here  from  Monsieur  Delicado. 
Lay  out  my  blue  coat  and  buff  breeches." 

"An'  de  red  striped  waistcoat.  Dad  go  ve'y 
fine  wid  de  res',  fo-  a  fete,  Michie." 

"Just  as  you  say,  Poupet." 

Thus,  in  gala  attire,  Jallot — his  mood  yielding 
to  the  cheery  influence  of  a  day  designed  for  fetes 
— sallied  forth  to  the  Tivoli,  which  lay  about  two 
miles  back  from  the  town  on  the  Bayou  St.  Jean. 
This  place  of  public  entertainment  consisted  of  a 
commodious  mansion  and  a  broad  terrace  over- 
looking an  expanse  of  water,  the  head  of  Lake 

150 


A  LOTTERY  AND  A  LOVE  AFFAIR 

Pontchartrain.  The  house  boasted  broad  veran- 
das, ( the  best  dancing-floor  in  Louisiana,  and  a 
cuisine  unequalled  by  the  most  famous  chefs  of 
the  town.  There  the  noblesse  of  New  Orleans 
held  their  weekly  balls,  and  noon  and  night  came 
to  dine  in  its  tapestried  rooms,  or  upon  the  ter- 
race, which,  in  fine  weather,  was  set  out  with  tables 
under  the  magnolias.  There  the  habitues  of  the 
place  might  watch  the  bathers  in  the  bayou  below, 
and  the  sails  of  the  batteaux  careening  to  the  wind 
— dazzling  white  patches  against  the  wonderful 
emerald  blue  of  the  water  as  the  sun  shone  upon 
them;  or,  looking  further  away,  see  the  taller  top- 
sails of  some  trading  craft  from  Pensacola  cour- 
tesying  with  the  rolling  tide.  Far  off,  across  the 
lake,  lay  banks  of  rice  and  sugar-cane,  undulating 
in  the  fresh  salt  wind  blown  inland  from  the  Gulf; 
and  beyond  them  again  stretched  dark  belts  of 
evergreens  and  forests  of  cypress. 

The  approach  to  the  resort  was  the  shell-crusted 
Bayou  Road,  winding  up  to  an  arched  entrance  of 
bay,  orange  and  magnolia,  and  through  that  am- 
brosial bower  the  visitor  made  his  way  to  the  ter- 
race. 

On  the  very  day  that  Jallot  sought  the  Tivoli, 
the  terrace  tables,  shaded  yet  exposed  to  every 
air  that  stirred,  were  generously  occupied  by  gay 
parties,  whose  brilliant  toilettes  lent  charming 
notes  of  color  to  a  lively  scene.  Waiters  bustled 
about,  with  the  activity  and  quietude  of  ants,  under 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

the  all-seeing  eye  of  the  little  French  host, 
Moreau;  on  the  upper  veranda  an  orchestra  of 
colored  musicians  fiddled  the  melodies  of  Gott- 
schalk,  so  dear  to  Creole  ears;  and  there  was  much 
laughter,  the  tinkling  of  glasses,  and  the  whisper- 
ing of  lovers,  who  dined  tete-a-tete  under  the 
bowers  where  the  breezes  shook  the  fragrant 
orange  blossoms  down  upon  them. 

At  one  of  these  sequestered  tables  sat  Ottilie 
Trudeau  and  her  fiance.  He  was  in  a  peevish 
mood,  because  he  had  been  obliged  to  wait  some 
time  for  his  luncheon. 

Moreau,  making  the  rounds  of  the  terrace, 
stopped  to  speak  to  him. 

"Are  we  to  wait  forever?"  asked  the  Creole 
testily. 

"You  shall  be  served  in  a  moment,  Monsieur. 
Perhaps  you  might  care  to  glance  at  'Le  Moni- 
teur?''  He  took  a  copy  of  the  paper  from  his 
pocket  and  handed  it  to  Lemaitre.  "I  shall  hurry 
the  garc,on." 

"I  hope  you  have  made  the  sauce  yourself,"  said 
Ottilie,  addressing  the  proprietor. 

"To  be  sure,  Mamzelle;  and  you  will  find  none 
like  it  outside  of  Paris.  Then  the  wine!  Ah!" 
The  host  clasped  his  hands  in  ecstasy.  "It  is  thir- 
ty years  old,  if  a  day !" 

Lemaitre,  who  was  reading  the  paper,  looked 
up.  "Stop  talking  about  it  and  let  us  have  it !" 

Moreau  bowed  and  went  away. 


A  LOTTERY  AND  A  LOVE  AFFAIR 

"Etienne,  I  wish  you  would  not  be  so  brusque 
with  Moreau.  He  is  doing  his  best." 

Lemaitre  paid  no  attention  to  Ottilie's  remarks, 
but  went  on  reading.  Presently  he  gave  a  gasp 
of  anger. 

"What  is  it  now?"  asked  the  girl  with  im- 
patience. Her  fiance's  ill  temper  was  wearing 
upon  her  nerves. 

He  read  from  the  paper  in  a  rage.  "  'Conquest 
of  a  charming  and  distinguished  young  woman  to 
whom  he  gives  private  instruction  in  his  atelier!' 
Norn  de  Dieu!  Read  that!"  He  thrust  the  paper 
into  her  hands. 

"What  is  it?"  she  inquired,  searching  the  page. 

"What  is  it?"  he  vociferated.  "Proof!  You! 
Jallot!  del!  And  I  believed  in  you!" 

Ottilie  read  the  paragraph,  which  had  already 
caused  Jallot  so  much  unhappiness,  and  which 
now,  in  the  eyes  of  the  jealous  Lemaitre,  pointed 
unmistakably  to  an  affair  between  his  fiancee  and 
the  barber.  "It  is  false — every  word  of  it,"  de- 
clared the  girl  with  indignation. 

Lemaitre  became  sarcastic.  "Naturally,  you 
deny  it !"  Then  he  added,  accusingly,  "You  are 
in  love  with  that  man.  Have  I  not  seen  it  with 
my  own  eyes!" 

"Very  well.  Have  it  your  way !"  Ottilie  sighed 
with  weariness  and  sank  back  in  her  chair. 

"You  take  it  calmly  enough.  To  think  how  I 
have  trusted  you!" 

153 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

"Yes,  you  have  trusted  me  too  much,  Monsieur. 
I  will  not  trouble  you  to  trust  me  any  longer.  Our 
betrothal  is  broken."  She  tore  a  ring  from  her 
finger  and  flung  it  down  in  front  of  him.  "There 
is  your  ring !" 

The  Creole  snatched  it  up  and  retorted  with 
vehemence :  "You  are  glad  to  be  rid  of  me !" 

"Very  glad.  I  am  lucky  to  discover  what  you 
are  before  it  is  too  late.  Our  parents  made  a 
great  mistake,  as  parents  often  do.  Affection 
cannot  be  ordered  about  like  a  slave." 

"You  never  loved  me?"  he  cried. 

"Hush,"  she  protested.  "Do  not  tell  it  to 
everyone  on  the  terrace.  No,  I  do  not  believe 
that  I  ever  did  love  you,  but  I  might  have.  I  was 
fond  of  you,  but  you  have  killed  all  the  affection  I 
felt  by  your  distrust,  your  jealousy,  your  insults." 

"Sacre  bleu!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  shall  kill  your 
lover— Jallot!" 

Ottilie  laughed  derisively.  "Curses  do  not 
make  funerals,"  she  gibed.  "You  have  neither 
the  skill  nor  the  courage  to  overcome  him.  Be- 
sides, you  have  picked  the  wrong  man."  She 
hesitated  only  for  an  instant  and  then  yielded  to 
the  joy  of  incensing  him  with  a  statement  she  had 
never  made  even  to  herself.  "You  have  more 
cause  to  fight  with  Monsieur  Osbourne,  the  Amer- 
ican." 

"Osbourne!  Jallot!  How  many  more?" 
quivered  Lemaitre. 

154 


A  LOTTERY  AND  A  LOVE  AFFAIR 

"At  least  a  dozen.  I  do  not  name  them  for  fear 
you  might  kill  them  all.  Hurry,  before  you  for- 
get. Go !  I  dismiss  you !"  She  laughed  again. 

The  proprietor  came  up  at  that  moment. 

"My  carriage !"  ordered  Ottilie. 

"My  bill!"  grumbled  Lemaitre. 

"But  your  luncheon?"  exclaimed  the  host. 

"I  do  not  want  it."  Lemaitre  arose  and  took 
out  his  purse. 

"But  it  is  ready!" 

While  Moreau  and  the  Creole  argued,  Ottilie 
turned  away  toward  the  terrace  entrance,  where 
she  all  but  ran  into  the  arms  of  Osbourne,  who, 
thus  suddenly  confronted,  doffed  his  beaver  and 
stammered  something  about  his  good  luck  in 
coming  upon  her  so  unexpectedly.  She  was  con- 
scious of  what  she  had  said  of  the  American  only 
a  few  moments  before,  and  the  thought  embar- 
rassed her.  She  returned  his  salutation  and  made 
as  though  to  pass  on. 

"You  are  not  going?"  It  was  an  entreaty  rather 
than  a  question. 

"Yes,"  she  replied;  "Monsieur  Lemaitre,  with 
whom  I  was  to  lunch,  has  been  called  away  on — on 
particular  business." 

Osbourne  plucked  up  his  courage.  "Then  you 
are  at  liberty  to  dine  with  me !" 

His  proposition  almost  stunned  her.  It  was  an 
unheard  of  thing  for  a  young  Creole  woman  to 
be  seen  in  a  public  place  attended  by  a  man  who 

155 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

was  neither  relative  nor  fiance.  Ottilie  had  been 
brought  up  to  revere  this  strict  observance  of  the 
society  which  she  adorned;  and  there  is  no  doubt 
that  she  would  never  have  entertained,  even  for  an 
instant,  the  idea  of  accepting  the  invitation  of  the 
American,  had  she  not  seen  Lemaitre  scowling  at 
her  across  the  terrace.  His  look  aroused  her  re- 
sentment against  him  and  all  that  he  represented; 
and  a  desire  to  affront  him,  to  defy  that  formal 
world  which  had  approved  her  betrothal,  made,  her 
reckless.  Again  there  was  no  denying  that  both 
Osbourne  and  the  prospective  luncheon  possessed 
strong  attractions. 

The  American  saw  her  hesitate,  and  pressed  her 
to  stay. 

"But  consider  the  propriety,"  she  gasped  mo- 
mentously. 

"I  did  not  think  of  that,  Mademoiselle." 

Ottilie  became  daring.  With  a  smile  of  bravado 
she  declared,  "Then  neither  shall  I." 

Lemaitre  passed  them  on  his  way  out  and  felt 
chagrined  that  his  malevolent  look  did  not  over- 
whelm Osbourne,  who  could  not  resist  the  impulse 
to  grin  at  him.  The  sheriff  lacked  finesse  in  such 
matters.  There  was  a  great  deal  of  the  youth  in 
him  still.  He  was  not  above  gloating  over  a 
triumph,  and  from  Lemaitre's  expression  he  felt 
assured  that  he  had  in  some  manner  scored  against 
the  Creole. 

Gaily  then  he  called  to  the  little  Frenchman. 

156 


A  LOTTERY  AND  A.  LOVE  AFFAIR 

"Luncheon  for  two,  Moreau !  I  will  leave  it  to 
you." 

"Merci!  I  have  a  delicious  repast  ready  to 
serve,"  chirped  the  host,  showing  them  to  the 
table  which  Ottilie  had  just  left.  "Monsieur 
Lemaitre,  who  ordered  it,  could  not  wait." 

Osbourne  smiled.  "Good !"  He  tucked  Ottilie 
into  a  seat,  and  took  the  chair  attentively  held  for 
him.  "There  is  no  hurry,"  he  supplemented, 
gazing  happily  across  at  his  companion. 

Moreau,  wise  in  such  matters,  held  the  service 
back  for  fifteen  minutes.  During  that  time  Ottilie 
and  Osbourne  were  becoming  better  acquainted. 

"No  doubt  you  think  it  odd  that  I  should  be  left 
here  by  Monsieur  Lemaitre."  Ottilie  felt  that  she 
should  explain. 

"Good  fortune  is  never  hunch-backed,"  ob- 
served the  sheriff,  quoting  a  Creole  proverb, 
meaning  that  there  is  nothing  odd  or  unpleasant 
in  a  piece  of  good  fortune. 

"I  must  tell  you  that  we  have  quarreled — 
finally,"  continued  the  girl. 

Osbourne's  delight  showed  all  too  plainly  in  his 
face.  "I  congrat — "  He  interrupted  himself.  "I 
mean — that  is  too  bad." 

"You  mean  nothing  of  the  kind,"  she  glow- 
ingly challenged  him. 

"Certainly  not,"  he  confessed  and  irrelevantly 
added:  "You — you  are  bewitching!" 

"I  am  happy,  Monsieur.     You  have  routed  the 

157 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

arch  imp  of  discord." 

"And  the  spirit  of  good  fortune  waits  upon  me, 
Mademoiselle !" 

''Upon  us!"  she  corrected,  with  a  merry  trill. 

The  luncheon  arrived,  follow'ed  by  Moreau, 
who  carried  with  great  care  a  bottle  of  wine  in  its 
cradle.  "Here  is  a  bottle!  You  would  not  find 
its  equal  at  any  of  the  other  restaurants,"  he 
boasted,  uncorking  it.  "And  these  patties!  I 
made  them  myself — with  the  pease.  Hah !  The 
chefs  of  the  town  do  not  know  the  trick  of  that 
dressing,  if  I  say  so  myself!" 

Ottilie  tasted  a  pattie  and  pronounced  it  deli- 
cious. 

"Merci,  Mamzelle!"  bowed  the  host.  He  filled 
their  glasses.  "Taste  that,  if  you  please  !" 

"To  your  eyes,  Mademoiselle!" 

"To  your  health,  Monsieur!" 

They  were  merry  over  it  and  declared  that 
they  had  never  tasted  anything  with  so  fine  a  bou- 
quet. Moreau  was  delighted.  He  ordered  the 
waiter  not  to  forget  the  salad,  and  informed  his 
guests  that  he  was  preparing  for  them  a  wonder- 
ful pistache  after  his  own  receipt.  When  they  had 
progressed  as  far  as  coffee,  Ottilie  suddenly  ex- 
claimed: 

"There  is  Monsieur  Jallot !" 

Osbourne  looked  over  his  shoulder  and  saw  the 
Frenchman  take  a  seat  at  an  empty  table  and 
beckon  to  a  waiter.  "So  it  is,"  he  remarked  in- 

158 


A  LOTTERY  AND  A  LOVE  AFFAIR 

differently. 

"He  is  excellent  company,"  she  insinuated. 

"But,"  hesitated  the  American,  "I  thought — 
well — that  we — you — "  The  fact  was  that  he  did 
not  relish  an  intruder.  \ 

"You  thought  I  might  like  him  to  join  us?" 
plagued  the  girl  and  replied  to  her  own  question: 
"Certainly!  I  am  reckless  to-day!  Ask  him!" 

Osbourne  arose  reluctantly  and  crossed  over  to 
Jallot,  who  smiled  up  at  him  and  said,  "Bravo,  my 
friend !"  Osbourne  did  not  understand  and  looked 
his  perplexity.  "Mademoiselle  Trudeau !  The 
psychological  moment!  You  have  recognized  it?" 

"She  asks  you  to  join  us!"     This  very  gravely. 

"She  is  gracious!     But  you — ?" 

"I  obey  her  orders !"   The  sheriff  smiled  a  little. 

"Her  wish  is  my  command,  too,"  said  Jallot, 
rising. 

Ottilie  beamed  at  the  barber  as  he  approached 
and  insisted  that  he  should  sit  at  her  table.  She 
declared  that  she  was  much  relieved  to  see  him, 
explaining  that  Monsieur  Lemaitre  had  sworn  to 
kill  him. 

"He  did  not  mention  it,"  jested  Jallot;  "though 
he  passed  me  just  now,  scowling  like  a  pirate." 

"What's  his  quarrel  with  you?"  quizzed 
Osbourne. 

Ottilie  referred  him  to  "Le  Moniteur,"  and  in- 
dicated the  paragraph.  "Monsieur  Lemaitre  in- 
sisted that  the  malicious  thing  referred  to  Mon- 

159 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

sieur  Jallot  and  me !" 

"Tiens!"     cried     the     barber.       "You,   too?" 

"Is  there  anyone  else,  Monsieur?" 

"The  slipper  seems  to  fit  the  foot  of  every 
woman  in  New  Orleans;  and,  while  all  this  implies 
a  sort  of  compliment  to  me,  I  find  it  rather  em- 
barrassing." 

"It  is  preposterous!"  declared  Osbourne,  shak- 
ing the  paper. 

"I    suppose   you  will  be   obliged   to   kill   the 
editor?"  calmly  inquired  Ottilie. 

"I  am  sorry  to  say  that  he  has  made  such  a 
course  unnecessary  by  promising  to  print  an 
apology,"  replied  Jallot. 

"A  very  good  thing,  I  say,"  ejaculated  the 
sheriff.  "If  there  had  been  a  duel,  I  must  have 
arrested  you  both." 

Ottilie  protested.  "Oh,  Monsieur  Osbourne! 
You  would  not  interfere  in  an  affair  of  honor !" 

"Indeed  I  would.      The  custom  is  barbarous !" 

"On  the  contrary,"  asserted  the  barber,  "dueling 
forces  men  to  be  polite.  It  has  made  New  Orleans 
a  city  of  courtly  manners." 

At  that  moment  he  caught  sight  of  Delicado  and 
Villebois,  who  had  just  arrived,  and  were  now  en- 
gaged in  earnest  conversation  with  Moreau.  Ex- 
plaining that  he  had  an  engagement,  Jallot  ex- 
cused himself  and  joined  the  Spaniard. 

"We  are  late,"  said  Delicado,  wringing  the 
barber's  hand  cordially.  "The  host  says  he  will 

1 60 


A  LOTTERY  AND  A  LOVE  AFFAIR 

have  to  give  us  a  table  on  the  veranda." 

"All  the  better,"  returned  Jallot.  "We  shall 
not  be  disturbed  there." 

The  Spaniard  gave  him  an  approving  nod  and 
led  the  way  after  Moreau,  who  installed  them  in 
the  far  corner  of  the  lower  piazza,  which  was 
screened  from  the  terrace  by  a  vine  of  jasmine. 

"Sefior  Jallot,"  began  Delicado,  resting  his 
elbows  on  the  table;  "I  asked  you  here  to-day 
merely  for  the  purpose  of  bettering  our  acquaint- 
ance." 

"I  am  highly  complimented,  Monsieur!" 

The  Castilian  took  from  his  pocket  a  case  of 
long  cigarettes  and  passed  it  to  his  companions. 
"I  can  conceive  of  nothing  so  pleasant  as  the  for- 
mation of  new  friendships  with  kindred  spirits," 
he  went  on,  as  he  slowly  lighted  a  cigarette;  "and 
I  fancy  that  we  have  many  opinions  in  common." 
His  smile  embraced  Villebois,  who  shifted  his  posi- 
tion restlessly  and  began  twisting  the  ring  on  his 
finger. 

"Yes,"  laughed  the  barber;  "but  I  would  rather 
be  judged  by  my  tastes  than  my  opinions." 

"Morbleu!"  groaned  Villebois;  "will  you  two 
cease  chattering  and  arrive  at  the  point?" 

Jallot  affected  surprise  at  this  and  looked  ques- 
tioningly  at  Delicado,  who  shrugged  his  shoulders 
and  said,  "He  who  runs  fast — trips !" 

Villebois  ignoring  this  remark,  leaned  across  the 
table  and  asked :  "I  should  like  to  know  what  you 

161 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

think  of  the  new  government,  Jallot?" 

"In  what  way?" 

"He  means,"  put  in  Delicado,  "to  inquire  if  you 
do  not  think  it  could  be  improved." 

"I  mean  more  than  that,"  asserted  Villebois. 
"Do  you  not  resent  the  arbitrary  manner  in  which 
the  Americans  have  set  up  new  laws,  which  in- 
fringe upon  your  rights?" 

"I  have  never  taken  any  trouble  to  conceal  my 
resentment  against  the  measures  of  the  new  gov- 
ernment," replied  Jallot;  "but  it  is  futile  to  express 
it,  unless  you  can  suggest  a  remedy." 

"Have  you  never  thought  of  a  remedy?"  queried 
the  Castilian. 

"No !  I  have  never  bothered  my  head  about  the 
matter!" 

"Then  you  have  shirked  your  duty,"  declared 
Villebois.  "We  have  been  considering  a 
remedy — " 

Delicado  stopped  him  with  a  gesture,  and  turned 
to  Jallot.  "Senor,  I  am  told  that  your  opinion  is 
highly  regarded  in  certain  quarters  of  the  city. 
Therefore,  you  must  be  capable  of  exerting  some 
influence.  Now  suppose  that  some  patriotic  spirits 
had  conceived  a  remedy  for  the  evils,  which  you 
confess  the  new  government  inflicts  upon  Louis- 
iana !  Would  you  be  sufficiently  interested  to  join 
issue  with  these  men  in  applying  that  remedy?" 

"Possibly!" 

"That  is  sufficient,"  returned  Delicado.      "On 

162 


A  LOTTERY  AND  A  LOVE  AFFAIR 

Wednesday  night  of  next  week  will  you  do  me  the 
honor  to  dine  at  my  lodgings  for  the  purpose  of 
meeting  some  of  my  friends  with  whom  we  may 
discuss  this  question?" 

"Gladly,  Monsieur!" 

"Now  we  shall  proceed  to  a  better  acquaint- 
ance," said  the  Spaniard,  with  a  laugh,  as  Moreau 
signalled  the  approach  of  their  luncheon. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  VEILED  FACE  OF  MYSTERY 

As  Delicado  and  his  companions  began  the  dis- 
cussion of  Moreau's  menu,  Antoinette  and  her 
foster-father  set  out  for  the  Tivoli.  It  was  not 
unusual  for  them  to  make  such  an  excursion,  but 
on  that  particular  day  she  had  insisted  that  he 
must  take  the  air  with  her,  for  his  health  had  suf- 
fered under  the  worry  of  settling  the  Spaniard's 
estate  and  his  failure  to  secure  monetary  assist- 
ance. 

Antoinette  was  not  happy  herself.  The  con- 
tumely, which  she  had  heaped  upon  Jallot,  afforded 
her  no  satisfaction.  In  the  calm  of  the  night  she  re- 
viewed again  and  again  that  unhappy  episode ;  and, 
as  the  hours  wore  on,  a  doubt  crept  into  her  mind 
as  to  whether  she  had  been  just  in  permitting  him 
no  opportunity  to  explain;  but  her  pride  was  so 
great  that  she  could  not  entertain  the  thought  of 
humbling  herself  to  ask  if  he  could  clear  himself 
of  the  charges  made  in  "Le  Moniteur."  She  felt, 
that  if  she  were  to  blame,  the  breach  between 
them  was  beyond  her  mending,  and  this  considera- 
tipn  weighed  heavily  upon  her  spirits. 

164 


THE  VEILED  FACE  OF  MYSTERY 

Her  own  trouble  made  her  more  sensitive  to  the 
affliction  of  others.  Once  she  had  been  blind  to 
the  anxiety  of  old  Froebel,  but  now  she  noted  hjs 
melancholy  state.  With  dear  concern  and  en- 
treaty she  begged  his  confidence  that  morning 
and  finally  shook  his  resolution  to  keep  the  visita- 
tion of  Delicado  and  its  consequences  from  her. 
He  told  her  that  he  was  bankrupt,  that  they  must 
part  with  the  villa,  but  assured  her  that  his  ill  for- 
tune would  affect  her  little,  since,  from  the  residue 
of  his  property,  he  believed  there  would  be  suffi- 
cient to  provide  for  their  wants. 

Hearing  all,  she  was  convinced  that  her  foster- 
father's  hopes  were  greater  than  his  means  to 
realize  them;  yet,  she  faced  the  disheartening  pros- 
pect with  courage.  In  an  instant  she  had  laid  out 
in  her  mind  an  array  of  economies  which  she  pro- 
posed to  practice  for  him  and  for  herself.  Being, 
in  truth,  more  anxious  for  his  health  than  his  af- 
fairs, she  assumed  a  gaiety  of  manner,  picturing 
how  much  happier  they  would  be  simply  lodged 
in  the  town,  where  she,  who  had  been  butterflying 
all  her  life,  might  make  a  home  for  him  after  a 
fashion  all  her  own. 

"We  will  part  with  all  the  servants  at  once  and 
to-morrow  look  for  lodgings.  To-day,  we  go  to 
the  Tivoli  for  a  sail  across  the  lake.  The  breeze 
will  sweep  the  cobwebs  out  of  your  dear  head,  so 
that  to-night  your  mind  will  be  clear  to  help  me 
plan  for  the  future." 

165 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

Antoinette's  cheerfulness  gave  the  old  man  con- 
fidence and  relief,  because  it  was  on  her  account 
that  he  had  been  most  anxious.  Together,  then, 
her  arm  in  his,  they  walked  through  the  June  sun- 
shine to  the  Tivoli.  There  they  stopped  and 
spoke  to  Osbourne  and  Ottilie,  who  were  about  to 
leave. 

Jallot,  from  his  vantage  point  on  the  veranda, 
saw  Antoinette,  and  from  that  moment  lost  all  in- 
terest in  the  conversation  of  his  companions. 
Villebois,  noting  his  indifference,  invented  an  en- 
gagement in  town  and  the  party  broke  up.  As 
they  made  their  way  across  the  terrace  they  were 
obliged  to  pass  close  to  where  Antoinette  stood. 
She  inadvertently  looked  at  Jallot  as  he  drew  near 
and,  meeting  his  glance,  turned  her  face  from  him 
only  to  encounter  the  blue  eyes  of  Delicado.  He 
stopped  short  and  stared  at  her,  and  she,  in  turn, 
returned  his  scrutiny,  her  eyes  widening  in  fear. 
In  an  instant  she  was  all  a-tremble.  A  faintness 
seized  her  and  she  must  have  fallen  had  not  Jallot 
sprung  forward  and  caught  her  arm.  He  helped 
her  to  a  chair  and  called  to  a  gar9on  for  brandy; 
while  Froebel,  who  seemed  almost  as  agitated  as 
Antoinette,  did  nothing  but  wring  his  hands. 
Osbourne  hurried  after  the  waiter,  returning  with 
the  brandy  himself,  and  insisted  that  Antoinette 
should  drain  the  last  drop.  Jallot  stood  aside, 
waiting,  his  mind  in  a  whirl  of  perplexity.  Deli- 

166 


THE  VEILED  FACE  OF  MYSTERY 

cado  and  Villebois  passed  on  through  the  Tivoli 
gate. 

Antoinette  presently  looked  up  and  took  the 
hand  of  Ottilie.  "What  is  the  trouble,  cherie?" 
asked  the  Creole  girl. 

"The  face  of  that — man — I  cannot  think — "  she 
answered  in  deep  breaths;  "it  revived  some  vague 
— horrid  memory  of — I — I  don't  know  what — let 
us  go!" 

"Perhaps  Herr  Froebel  had  better  take  you 
home,"  suggested  Osbourne. 

"Yes — yes !  Let  us  go !"  she  agreed  in  a  tremor. 
Then  noting  the  anxious  faces  about  her,  she  con- 
trolled herself  with  an  effort  and,  smiling  faintly, 
added:  "I  am  better  now."  • 

Jallot,  whom  she  entirely  ignored,  turned  to 
Osbourne  and  said,  "I  will  find  a  conveyance  for 
Mademoiselle."  He  went  out,  ordered  a  volante, 
and  hurried  down  the  Bayou  Road  after  Villebois 
and  Delicado. 

They  heard  his  rapid  steps  behind  them  and 
halted  that  he  might  overtake  them.  When  he 
came  up,  the  Spaniard  remarked:  "We  would 
have  waited  for  you,  only  we  saw  that  you  were  en- 
gaged." 

"It  is  an  extraordinary  thing,"  observed  Jallot; 
"but  it  seems  that  the  young  woman  was  over- 
come at  the  sight  of  you,  Monsieur." 

"We  have  been  discussing  her  peculiar  be- 
havior," returned  Delicado. 

167 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

"I  told  him,"  jested  Villebois,  "that  his  looks 
frightened  her." 

"It  has  quite  taken  the  conceit  out  of  me," 
joked  the  Castilian.  "I  had  no  idea  that  I  looked 
so  ferocious." 

"Possibly  Mademoiselle  associated  you  with 
some  distressing  event,"  suggested  the  barber. 
"Have  you  met  her  before?" 

"I  am  uncertain,  Seiior.  Her  face  seems 
familiar  to  me;  yet  I  cannot  place  her." 

"You  may  have  met  her  in  Paris — she  spent 
the  best  part  of  her  life  there.  Does  that  give 
you  a  clue?" 

Delicado  puzzled  for  a  moment  and  then  shook 
his  head.  "It  is  a  mystery  to  me,"  he  insisted 
with  evident  frankness.  "You  say  she  is  a  daughter 
of  Ludwig  Froebel  ?"  He  put  this  question  to  Vil- 
lebois. 

"His  adopted  daughter !" 

"I  am  all  the  more  bewildered,"  he  slowly  re- 
plied. "Our  minds  serve  us  such  tricks!  It  may 
be  that  I  merely  fancy  I  have  seen  the  girl  before, 
or  that  I  shall  remember  her  all  in  a  flash." 

"After  all,  it  is  not  our  concern,"  said  Jallot. 

"Nevertheless,  it  is  of  great  psychological  inter- 
est," chuckled  Villebois.  "A  young  woman  of  high 
character,  education  and  refinement  is  suddenly 
confronted  by  a  strange  gentleman,  who  has  re- 
turned to  his  native  city  after  an  absence  of  a  dozen 
years;  the  woman  is  stunned  at  the  sight  of  him 

168 


THE  VEILED  FACE  OF  MYSTERY 

and  he  is  unable  to  explain  the  phenomenon." 

"I  promise  you  I  shall  cudgel  my  brains  over  it 
and  let  you  know  the  result,"  laughed  the 
Spaniard. 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  Rue  Royale, 
where  Jallot  parted  from  his  companions  and  went 
on  down  the  Rue  du  Maine  to  his  atelier.  He  was 
by  no  means  satisfied  that  Delicado  did  not  recall 
a  previous  acquaintance  with  Antoinette.  He  felt 
convinced  that  her  terror  was  real  and  had  its  foun- 
dation in  some  dire  circumstance  in  which  the 
Castilian  figured  malevolently. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

IT  IS  EASIER  TO  FLY  THAN  TO  FIGHT 

During  Jallot's  absence  from  the  atelier  that 
afternoon,  Allard  called  to  submit  a  proof  of  the 
retraction  which  he  proposed  to  publish  in  the 
next  issue  of  "Le  Moniteur."  Poupet,  who 
scorned  the  editor  in  his  heart  because  he  had 
preferred  to  apologize  rather  than  to  fight,  scarce- 
ly deigned  to  notice  him,  but  went  on  practicing 
a  gay  air  upon  the  violin.  Allard  was  obliged  to 
repeat  his  inquiry  for  Jallot  before  receiving  an 
answer. 

"Michie  is  out,"  the  quadroon  succinctly  an- 
swered, playing  away  without  a  pause. 

"When  will  he  return?" 

"To-night— mebbe !" 

"Say  to  him  that  I  regret  my  affairs  will  prevent 
my  returning  this  evening,  but  that  I  may  call 
upon  him  in  the  morning." 

Poupet  continued  to  riddle  insolently. 

"Did  you  hear?"  barked  Allard,  becoming 
angry. 

"Posseblee!" 

170 


EASIER  TO  FLY  THAN  TO  FIGHT 

Thoroughly  exasperated,  the  editor  uttered  an 
oath  and  went  out.  As  he  left  the  court,  Gazonac, 
who  was  passing  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street, 
caught  sight  of  him,  and  with  an  exclamation  of 
amazement  crossed  over  and  demanded: 

"How  long  have  you  been  a  patron  of  that' 
shop,  Allard?" 

"I  have  just  made  my  initial  visit,"  answered 
the  editor,  not  at  all  pleased  at  being  discovered. 

Gazonac  became  suspicious.  "What  business 
can  you  have  with  Jallot  ?" 

"It  may  have  been  to  have  my  eyebrows  curled," 
retorted  Allard. 

"You  are  pleased  to  jest,  Monsieur;  but  I  warn 
you  that  if  you  are  up  to  double-dealing,  the  joke 
may  be  at  your  expense." 

The  editor  pretended  to  be  injured.  "Oh,  I  shall 
be  perfectly  frank  with  you,  my  friend.  I  make 
no  secret  of  the  matter."  He  took  a  printed  slip 
from  his  pocket  and  offered  it  to  Gazonac.  "My 
visit  to  Jallot  concerned  this — a  retraction  of  your 
paragraph  in  yesterday's  'Moniteur.'  It  is  to  ap- 
pear next  week." 

"Diable!"  exclaimed  the  Frenchman  in  amaze- 
ment and  anger.  "You  mean  to  publish  this?" 

"I  had  it  put  in  type  with  that  purpose,"  calmly 
declared  Allard. 

Gazonac's  wrath  exploded.  "Nom  de  chienf  You 
shall  not!" 

"I  must;  otherwise  Jallot  will  kill  me."      It  was 

171 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

a  cool  statement  of  a  fact.  If  the  editor  was  per- 
turbed he  did  not  show  it. 

"And  if  you  do  print  the  apology,  I  will  kill 
you,"  retorted  Gazonac. 

"Is  it  possible?"  Allard  was  astonished.  It 
had  never  occurred  to  him  that  his  friend  might 
go  so  far  as  that. 

"It  is  positive;  and  I  shall  lose  no  time  in  fin- 
ishing you  off."  This  was  not  a  jest,  and  the  edi- 
tor fully  believed  that  Gazonac  was  equal  to  carry- 
ing out  his  threat. 

"That  alters  the  situation,"  he  hastened  to  re- 
join. "I  shall  not  publish  the  retraction.  If  I 
must  be  killed,  I  prefer  to  die  at  the  hands  of  Jal- 
lot  next  week  than  to  be  slain  by  you  this  even- 
ing." Allard  was  more  philosophic  than  cow- 
ardly. 

Gazonac,  appeased  at  having  his  way,  took  the 
editor  by  the  arm,  in  a  friendly  fashion,  and  led 
him  down  the  street,  saying,  "You  are  quite  right; 
and  I  may  be  able  to  save  your  skin  altogether." 

"I  would  appreciate  that  very  much,"  drawled 
the  Creole. 

"What  do  you  say  to  a  sea  voyage?" 

"I  don't  understand!" 

"I  have  an  interest  in  The  Blue  Porpoise,' 
which  plies  between  New  Orleans  and  Pensacola. 
She  is  loading  now,  and  expects  to  go  down  the 
river  to-morrow.  What  is  to  prevent  your  sailing 
aboard  her?" 

172 


EASIER  TO  FLY  THAN  TO  FIGHT 

Allard  considered.  "But  what  is  to  become  of 
'Le  Moniteur?'  "  he  asked. 

"It  will  not  be  the  first  time  that  your  valuable 
periodical  has  suspended  publication;  and  when 
you  have  returned  I  do  not  doubt  that  affairs  here 
will  be  in  such  shape  that  I  can  protect  you  from 
Jallot.  Further  than  that,  I  shall  reimburse  you 
for  whatever  losses  you  may  sustain  by  reason  of 
this  excursion.  What  do  you  say?" 

"There  is  a  proverb  which  runs  thus :  'What  you 
lose  in  the  fire  you  will  find  in  the  ashes/  "  replied 
Allard.  "I  will  go.  The  sea  air  will  do  me  good, 
and  I  shall  hope  to  find  on  my  return  that  the  at- 
mosphere of  New  Orleans  is  conducive  to  my 
health." 

To  the  satisfaction  of  both,  all  arrangements 
were  concluded,  and  the  next  morning  the  editor 
found  himself  a  lone  passenger  on  "The  Blue  Por- 
poise," bound  for  the  Gulf  of  Mexico. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

SOLD  TO  THE  HIGHEST  BIDDER 

Rid  of  Allard,  Gazonac  gave  his  attention  to 
more  important  matters.  His  chief  concern  was 
to  assist  in  organizing  the  conspiracy,  conceived 
by  Delicado  and  threatened  by  Jallot,  who  now 
had  every  prospect  of  gaining  favor  with  its  lead- 
ers. 

The  barber  kept  Osbourne  informed  of  his 
progress  in  winning  the  confidence  of  the  Span- 
iard, and  assured  the  sheriff  that  he  expected  to 
possess  himself  of  every  detail  of  the  enterprise  at 
the  meeting,  which  was  to  take  place  on  Wednes- 
day night  at  Delicado's  lodgings. 

On  the  Monday  preceding  that  day,  Poupet 
burst  into  Jallot's  cabinet  and  announced  excited- 
ly that  their  number  had  drawn  a  prize  in  the  lot- 
tery. 

"Ten  tousan'  dollah,  Michie!"  he  shouted,  in- 
toxicated with  joy. 

"Are  you  sure  of  it?"  asked  Jallot,  somewhat 
excited  himself. 

"Sure!  Yez,  yez!"  cried  the  quadroon.  "Ah 
juz  come  from  de  drawin',  myse'f.  Dey  call  out 

174 


SOLD  TO  THE  HIGHEST  BIDDER 

dad  noomber !  De  secon'  prize !  What  yo'  tink  ? 
Ten  tousan'  dollah!"  He  embraced  the  barber 
frantically — and  apologized. 

"I  congratulate  you,  Poupet.  Such  great  luck 
seems  fairly  magical.  Indeed,  I  can  scarcely  real- 
ize that  you  have  become  in  an  instant  a  man  of 
wealth !" 

"Michie,  yo'  air  also  become  de  same.  De 
noomber  whad  Ah  draw  iz  de  one  Ah  give  yo'  on 
you'  fete-day!" 

"But  when  I  accepted  it,  I  never  for  a  moment 
fancied  that  it  might  prove  a  winning  number," 
protested  Jallot.  "The  money — " 

"We  divide,"  interrupted  Poupet.  "Dad  iz 
five  tousan'  fo'  both.  Sapristl!  Ain'd  id  won'er- 
ful !  I  ged  de  check  to-morrow  or  next  day. 
Whad  we  goin'  do  wid  all  dad  money?" 

"We'll  put  it  in  bank,"  laughed  the  master,  "and 
decide  how  to  use  it  at  our  leisure.  For  the  pres- 
ent I  am  too  much  overcome  by  our  newly-arrived 
opulence  to  think  of  anything  else." 

The  fact  was  that  Jallot  wished  he  had  not  come 
in  for  a  share  of  Poupet's  windfall.  He  had  a 
stubborn  desire  to  shape  every  rung  in  the  ladder 
of  his  fortune.  By  hard  work  and  self-denial  he 
had  accumulated  a  sum  almost  sufficient  to  enable 
him  to  retire  from  the  management  of  the  atelier 
and  to  devote  himself  to  the  career  he  had  long 
dreamed  about.  Another  year's  application  to 
the  drudgery  of  his  shop  would  witness  his  re- 

175 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

demption;  and  it  was  even  possible  that  he  might 
not  have  to  wait  so  long,  if  his  tragedy,  which  was 
to  be  produced  within  a  fortnight,  should  prove  a 
success. 

Now,  at  first  thought,  it  looked  to  him  as 
though  chance  through  the  medium  of  Poupet 
and  a  lottery  had  stolen  from  him  the  great  satis- 
faction of  completing  that  all-important  step  in 
the  stairs  of  his  fortune.  He  nevertheless  saw  the 
humor  of  such  a  strange  disappointment;  and  fur- 
ther consideration  discovered  to  him  that,  while 
he  must  accept  his  share  of  the  prize,  he  might  de- 
vote the  sum  to  other  uses  than  his  own.  Thus 
he  could  preserve  to  himself  his  cherished  purpose 
of  being  absolutely  the  forger  of  his  own  estate. 

In  this  resolve  Jallot  showed  at  once  his  pride 
and  his  vanity — faults  but  not  failings,  since  they 
sprang  from  courage.  Like  many  another  intrep- 
id spirit,  who  has  fancied  himself  all-sufficient 
unto  himself,  he  was  to  learn  that  while  destiny 
may  well  honor  the  strong  of  heart  she  will  not 
humor  them;  and  he  was  shortly  to  be  reminded 
of  that  old  proverb — "what  you  push  away  to-day 
with  your  foot  you  will  pick  up  to-morrow  with 
your  hand."  Then  he  acknowledged  that  the  wise 
man  is  one  who  accepts  the  good  offices  of  fate  as 
his  rightful  portion,  earned  at  one  time  or  another 
by  travail  and  bloody  sweat;  that  it  is  all  part  of 
some  great  game  in  which,  no  matter  how  large 

176 


SOLD  TO  THE  HIGHEST  BIDDER 

he  looms  up  in  his  own  eyes,  he  is  a  small  thing; 
a  pawn — not  a  knight — of  destiny. 

Jallot  was  by  no  means  unaware  of  this  great 
force  in  life,  but  he  over-estimated  his  own 
strength.  He  was  all  confident  in  his  power  to 
bend  the  course  of  master  issues  to  his  own  ends, 
while  the  success  he  had  achieved  in  the  past  only 
served  to  encourage  self-faith  for  the  future.  He 
had  planned  and  wrought  with  infinite  patience 
and  perseverance,  and  had  won  for  himself,  or  so 
it  seemed,  a  fair  measure  of  success.  Not  being  a 
fatalist,  it  never  occurred  to  him  that  he  might 
only  be  carrying  out  a  role  allotted  him  by  the 
Master  Dramatist. 

He  had  foreseen  much  that  came,  and  now  that 
he  had  planted  the  seeds  of  the  future,  he  thought 
that  he  must  surely  know  what  the  harvest  would 
be.  It  was  therefore  with  confident  expectancy 
that  he  knocked  at  the.^oor  of  No.  n  Rue  Toul- 
ouse at  seven  o'clock  on  that  June  evening  set  for 
the  rendezvous  of  the  conspirators.  A  colored 
youth  in  livery  admitted  him  and  led  the  way  to  a 
room  where  he  discovered  Delicado  and  Villebois 
throwing  dice. 

"Am  I  early?"  asked  the  barber. 

"No!  You  are  on  time,"  laughed  his  host, 
"which  is  more  than  I  expect  of  the  others,  who 
were  either  born  in  New  Orleans  or  are  thorough- 
ly acclimated." 

177 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

"How  is  it  then  that  I  find  Villebois  ahead  of 
me?" 

"I  am  not  ahead  of  you,  Jallot  I  am  merely 
twenty-three  hours  late,"  chuckled  the  Creole. 

"He  was  to  have  dined  with  me  yesterday  at 
this  time,  and  only  arrived  an  hour  ago,"  ex- 
plained the  Spaniard. 

"My  tardiness  cost  me  about  fifty  dollars," 
grinned  Villebois,  pushing  aside  the  dice  box  to 
signify  that  he  would  play  no  more. 

"It  cost  you  more  than  that,"  said  Delicado."! 
had  an  extraordinary  human  document  to  lay  be^ 
fore  you,  but  I  have  since  concluded  to  keep  it  to 
myself." 

"Come  now,  that's  hardly  fair,"  protested  the 
Creole.  "As  a  student  of  mankind  I  claim  the 
privilege  of  sharing  your  discoveries." 

"I  have  a  notion  to  tell  you  just  enough  to  pro- 
voke your  curiosity,"  mused  Delicado.  "It  might 
teach  you  to  be  punctual  in  the  future." 

"Go  on !  Give  me  a  clue  and  perhaps  I  can  de- 
duce the  rest." 

"It  is  a  matter  which  I  fancy  will  interest  Sefior 
Jallot  as  well  as  you." 

"If  it  is  a  leaf  from  a  human  document,  you 
may  be  sure  of  that,"  declared  the  Frenchman. 

"It  concerns  the  young  woman  who  was  so 
overcome  when  she  saw  me  at  the  Tivoli  last 
week!" 

Jallot  gave  an  involuntary  exclamation  of  won- 

178 


SOLD  TO  THE  HIGHEST  BIDDER 

derment.  "So  you  have  recalled  something 
which  explains  her  agitation  ?" 

"I  know  her!" 

"Of  course  you  do,"  drawled  Villebois.  "She 
is  Mademoiselle  Antoinette  Froebel." 

"I  should  have  said  that  I  knew  her,"  corrected 
the  Castilian. 

"When?"  quizzed  Jallot. 

"Over  a  dozen  years  ago!" 

"She  was  only  a  child  then !"  asserted  Villebois. 

"Yes !  I  knew  her  before  she  entered  Froebel's 
household;  and  I  may  add  that  her  adoption  was  a 
surprise  to  me,"  admitted  Delicado. 

"Mon  Dieu"  exclaimed  Jallot,  concealing  his 
agitation  with  difficulty;  "what  a  mystery  you  are 
making!" 

"I  thought  I  should  arouse  your  curiosity," 
laughed  the  Spaniard.  "Perhaps  I  shall  gratify 
it  later,  but  you  must  excuse  me  now.  I  hear  my 
guests  arriving;  and  we  have  weightier  matters  to 
discuss." 

The  new-comers  were  Gazonac  and  Lemaitre, 
who  were  much  chagrined  to  find  that  Jallot  was 
one  of  the  party. 

"Why  is  he  here?"  demanded  Gazonac  of  Deli- 
cado. 

"Senor  Jallot  comes  at  my  invitation,"  was  the 
quiet  rejoinder.  "I  am  sure  you  will  find  him  a 
valuable  recruit." 

The   Frenchman   shrugged   his   shoulders   and 

179 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

sneered.  "You  are  at  liberty  to  choose  your  asso- 
ciates, Monsieur !" 

"If  anyone  here  objects  to  my  presence,  I  will 
withdraw,"  announced  Jallot,  rising  and  directing 
a  challenging  look  at  Gazonac. 

"Do  you  gentlemen  know  any  reason  why 
Seiior  Jallot  should  not  become  one  of  us?"  in- 
quired Delicado. 

"He  has  made  a  fool  of  me  with  a  woman," 
stormed  Lemaitre;  "and  refused  me  satisfaction." 

"You  shall  have  satisfaction  then!"  The  bar- 
ber mocked  him  with  a  bow. 

Lemaitre  was  astonished  and  frightened  at  the 
same  time.  "But  you  said  you  would  not  fight 
with  me,"  he  stammered. 

"I  have  changed  my  mind.  Have  your  seconds 
call  upon  Poupet  and  arrange  the  details." 

"There,  you  see,  it  is  amicably  settled,"  gibed 
their  host,  and  turned  to  greet  some  tardy  guests 
— three  Frenchmen,  a  Spaniard  and  an  English- 
man. The  last,  who  had  the  face  of  a  well-fed 
monk  and  the  swagger  of  a  buccaneer,  was  a 
patron  of  Jallot's  shop.  The  others  were  un- 
known to  him,  except  the  Spaniard,  whom  he  re- 
called as  an  associate  of  Casa  Calvo,  and  presently 
learned  that  he  was  the  old  Marquis's  secretary. 
His  airs  were  those  of  a  young  prince,  all  indo- 
lence and  impudence;  yet  his  brow  indicated  the 
scholar  and  the  quirks  at  the  corners  of  his  mouth 
told  of  the  jester.  As  for  the  Frenchmen,  they 

180 


SOLD  TO  THE  HIGHEST  BIDDER 

were  alike  in  nationality  only.  The  eldest  of  the 
three  wore  his  arm  in  a  sling,  and  appeared  to  be 
the  incarnation  of  suavity  and  amiability,  but  when 
Jallot  heard  his  name  he  remembered  that  the  man 
was  reckoned  the  most  incorrigible  duellist  in 
Louisiana.  The  youngest,  scarcely  more  than 
twenty,  having  a  stoical  expression  and  heavily 
tanned  aquiline  features,  looked  more  like  an  In- 
dian than  a  native  of  France;  while  the  third,  a 
dapper  little  man,  exceedingly  talkative  and  vain, 
evidently  thought  himself  a  great  beau.  They 
were  all  more  or  less  lavishly  caparisoned  in  rich 
combinations  of  light  colors,  which  spoke  well  for 
their  taste  and  poorly  for  the  discretion  of  their 
tailors,  who  no  doubt  would  have  to  whistle  for 
payment. 

Jallot  listened  to  their  names  and  gazed  at  each 
man  with  attention  as  Delicado  presented  them; 
and,  at  last,  when  he  shook  the  hand  of  the  Eng- 
lishman, he  concluded  that  he  had  never  seen  to- 
gether such  a  debonair  company  of  adventurers. 
Save  for  the  heavy  looks  of  Gazonac,  and  the  petu- 
lant visage  of  Lemaitre,  the  barber  might  have 
fancied  himself  at  some  stag  soiree,  the  sole  object 
nf  which  was  to  dispose  of  just  so  much  time  in 
the  most  amusing  and  delectable  fashion  that 
could  be  contrived. 

At  a  signal  from  Delicado,  the  portieres  at  one 
end  of  the  room  parted,  and  the  guests  beheld  a 
bijou  salon  hung  with  old  tapestries  and  softly 

181 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

illuminated  by  many-pronged  candelabra.  The 
light  fell  upon  a  table,  sparkling  with  cut  glass  and 
silver,  and  wreathed  about  the  centre  with  jas- 
mine. At  the  direction  of  their  host  the  guests 
were  soon  seated,  and  Jallot  found  himself  placed 
between  Delicado  and  Villebois. 

A  spirit  of  gaiety  ruled  the  dinner.  The  barber 
could  scarcely  realize  that  it  had  any  serious  pur- 
pose. The  young  Spaniard,  who  sat  across  from 
him  on  the  right  of  his  host,  and  the  Frenchman, 
who  was  Villebois's  vis-a-vis,  proved  as  engaging 
and  lively  companions  as  he  could  have  desired 
had  he  been  seeking  nothing  but  pleasure.  With 
good-natured  raillery  they  chided  the  author  upon 
the  failure  of  his  first  production  of  "The  Gateway 
of  Dreams."  They  declared  that  they  had  had  the 
misfortune  to  see  the  play,  and  then  amended 
their  jibes  by  complimenting  him  upon  its  subse- 
quent success.  The  Spaniard  professed  to  know 
the  young  woman  Jallot  referred  to  in  some 
verses  as  "the  moon-flower  maid;"  and  laughingly 
pointed  out  that  the  poet  had  plagiarized  a  French 
writer  in  his  sonnet,  "The  Crest  of  Morning." 

With  exchange  of  wit,  yet  never  a  word  of  poli- 
tics the  evening  wore  on.  Finally,  when  the 
liqueurs  were  served  and  the  smoke  of  cigar- 
ettes began  to  veil  the  tapestried  figures  on  the 
walls,  the  host  dismissed  his  servants,  and  ad- 
dressed the  company: 

"Sefiors,  let  us  proceed  to  business !   Of  course, 

182 


SOLD  TO  THE  HIGHEST  BIDDER 

you  all  understand  the  importance  of  secrecy.  At 
the  same  time  it  is  necessary  that  we  should  secure 
the  co-operation  of  every  man  who  can  be  inter- 
ested in  our  cause,  particularly  men  of  influence." 

Gazonac  produced  a  paper.  "I  have  here,"  he 
said,  "a  long  list  of  citizens  upon  whom  we  can  de- 
pend. It  means  that  we  can  command  the  co- 
operation of  the  entire  Creole  population  of  Lou- 
isiana." 

"You  mean  the  French,"  interjected  Villebois. 

"Yes,"  agreed  the  young  Spaniard,  with  a 
smile;  "the  Creoles  spit,  but  do  not  fight." 

Lemaitre  turned  belligerently  upon  the  speaker 
and  snapped,  "I  am  a  Creole." 

"So  am  I/'  affirmed  Villebois,  diplomatically. 
"But  we  are  different,  Lemaitre.  What  has  been 
said  is  part  truth.  It  is  not  the  Creole,  but  the 
Frenchman,  the  Spaniard,  the  Englishman  and 
the  Irishman,  who  are  eager  to  overthrow  this 
barbarian  government." 

"The  Creoles  talk  angrily  enough,"  contended 
Gazonac. 

"Exactly!  They  talk  against  the  government," 
put  in  the  Englishman,  in  very  good  French;  "but 
I  agree  with  Villebois  that,  in  a  pinch,  they  will 
stand  by  Governor  Claiborne." 

"There  are  enough  without  the  Creoles  to  carry 
our  enterprise  through,"  declared  Delicado;  and 
appealed  to  Jallot,  "Do  you  not  think  so,  Sefior?" 

"I  shall  be  better  able  to  judge  when  I  know 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

precisely  what  your  design  is,"  he  replied;  "but  I 
arn  sure  that  in  Louisiana  there  are  more  than 
enough  so-called  foreigners,  opposed  to  United 
States  rule,  to  present  a  formidable  force  under 
arms." 

"The  most  influential  men  of  the  old  regime  are 
one  with  us,"  asserted  a  Frenchman. 

"I  bring  you  word  to-night,"  said  the  young 
Spaniard,  "and  you  know  whom  I  represent,  that 
you  may  rely  upon  the  best  of  my  fellow-country- 
men in  New  Orleans." 

"Then  it  must  be  our  business  to  secretly  enroll 
every  sympathizer  in  Louisiana." 

"And  that  done — what  then?"  asked  Jallot. 

Delicado  traced  a  map  of  the  gulf  on  the  table- 
cloth, and  pointing  to  the  peninsula,  said,  "I 
have  here  a  fleet  of  five  vessels  and  some  three 
thousand  troops  under  arms.  As  soon  as  I  arn 
assured  of  the  proper  support  in  Louisiana,  I  shall 
go  to  Florida  and  embark  my  forces  for  the  Mis- 
sissippi. We  shall  land  below  the  forts,  and  then, 
simultaneously  with  the  outbreak  of  our  insur- 
rection here,  the  army  will  attack  the  city.  We 
shall  take  New  Orleans  by  surprise — " 

"And  make  Casa  Calvo  governor  of  the  inde- 
pendent State  of  Louisiana!"  cried  Gazonac. 

"To  the  Independent  State  of  Louisiana!"  ex- 
claimed the  Englishman,  raising  his  glass. 

"To  Casa  Calvo !"  added  the  young  Spaniard. 

"To  General  Delicado!"  contended  Villebois. 

184 


SOLD  TO  THE  HIGHEST  BIDDER 

Delicado  called  for  silence.  "Pardon,  Seiiors," 
he  prompted;  "let  us  drink  to — The  Cause!" 

"The  Cause!  The  Cause!  The  Cause!"  cheered 
the  company,  rising  to  the  toast.  Then,  as  they 
drained  their  draughts  of  Madeira,  there  was  a 
knock  at  the  door.  A  servant  entered,  whispered 
to  Delicado,  and,  at  his  direction,  went  out  again. 

"My  friends,"  remarked  the  host,  "I  have  a 
neglected  guest  without,  one  who  has  no  part  in 
our  enterprise,  but  still  a  guest,  bidden  here  to- 
night in  a  forgetful  moment.  Since  he  has  come 
I  cannot  well  send  him  away.  Therefore  I  shall 
ask  him  in  as  soon  as  we  have  despatched  the  busi- 
ness which  has  brought  us  together;  and  I  may 
add  that  my  forgotten  visitor  may  afford  you  some 
amusement." 

"Then  by  all  means  let  us  have  him  in,"  en- 
thused the  young  Spaniard. 

"Perhaps  this  mysterious  person  may  be  a 
woman,"  put  in  Villebois  with  a  chuckle. 

"What  remains  to  be  done?"  asked  the  Eng- 
lishman. 

"You  must  choose  one  of  your  number  as 
director-in-chief  of  the  enterprise  in  my  absence — 
I  must  sail  for  Florida  within  two  weeks,"  re- 
turned Delicado. 

After  an  animated  debate,  Gazonac  was  selected, 
with  Villebois  as  his  lieutenant.  The  young 
Spaniard  was  detailed  to  collect  the  necessarv 
funds  to  carry  out  the  conspiracy  and  the  English- 

185 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

man  to  assemble  arms  and  ammunition.  Delicado 
calculated  that  he  should  be  able  to  land  troops 
in  Louisiana  no  later  than  the  first  week  in  Sep- 
tember, and  by  that  time  it  was  agreed  that  all 
would  be  in  readiness  to  raise  the  insurrection.  It 
was  settled,  too,  that  the  company  should  meet 
again  in  Delicado's  lodgings  the  night  before  his 
departure,  and  report  what  progress  they  had 
made  in  the  interim. 

Their  business  thus  concluded,  the  host  sum- 
moned a  servant,  who  came  in  with  a  portfolio  un- 
der his  arm  and  set  it  down,  with  quills  and  ink, 
before  his  master. 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  Villebois;  "he  has  sent  for  an 
actress  to  read  us  some  of  his  own  verses !" 

"You  are  mistaken.  He  has  invited  a  death's- 
head  to  our  feast,"  declared  the  young  Spaniard, 
who,  sitting  where  he  could  see  the  door,  was  the 
first  to  take  note  of  the  guest,  pausing  timorously 
upon  the  threshhold. 

In  contrast  to  the  brilliant  appointments  of  the 
room  and  the  gay  trappings  of  the  conspirators, 
the  visitor  presented  a  sombre  and  even  piteous 
appearance.  He  was  clothed  in  dingy  black  and  his 
pale  and  aged  face  looked  haggard  above  his  linen 
stock.  As  he  entered,  leaning  a  little  upon  his 
cane,  Jallot  started  to  his  feet  with  an  exclama- 
tion of  amazement,  which  was  echoed  by  Ville- 
bois; while  Delicado  arose  and  held  out  his  hand 
cordially  to  the  newcomer. 

186 


SOLD  TO  THE  HIGHEST  BIDDER 

"My  friends,"  said  the  Spaniard  to  his  guests, 
"I  have  the  honor  of  presenting  to  you  Senor  Lud- 
wig  Froebel." 

As  the  bankrupt  merchant  bowed,  he  cast  an  ap- 
pealing glance  at  Jallot,  who  was  shocked  at  the 
misery  revealed  in  the  old  man's  face;  and,  as  he 
gazed  at  him  across  the  table,  the  thought  flashed 
into  his  mind  that  Antoinette  must,  in  some 
strange  fashion,  be  associated  with  her  foster- 
father's  distress.  The  barber  scrutinized  his  host 
as  though  to  fathom  what  lay  beneath  the  smile  of 
his  blue  eyes,  but  they  showed  no  sign  save  that 
of  amiability.  Nevertheless,  misgivings  would 
rise  in  the  heart  of  Jallot,  and,  remembering  that 
the  Spaniard  had  hailed  the  coming  of  Froebel 
with  promises  of  amusement,  he  could  only  think 
that  some  sinister  motive  prompted  the  summon- 
ing of  that  piteous  old  man. 

With  all  the  attentions  of  an  affable  host,  Deli- 
cado  made  a  place  for  Froebel  at  his  side,  and  in- 
sisted that  his  belated  guest  should  drink  with  the 
company. 

"I  drink  to  Senor  Froebel,"  said  the  Castilian. 
"He  has  been  custodian  of  my  estate  for  twelve 
years  and  done  well  by  me." 

This  announcement  was  a  revelation  to  Jallot, 
and  only  served  to  mystify  him  the  more. 

Delicado  opened  the  portfolio  and  picked  up  a 
paper,  saying,  "It  is  extraordinary  that  in  all  his 
accounting,  wherein  he  renders  faithful  charge  to 

187 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

the  last  picayune,  I  have  found  but  a  single 
error." 

"An  error!"  exclaimed  Froebel  in  dismay. 

The  Spaniard  smiled.  "It  is  only  a  matter  of 
one  slave!" 

"That  cannot  be,"  protested  the  merchant,  fear- 
fully. 

"It  is  a  girl,"  continued  Delicado,  unheeding 
the  interruption.  "She  was  about  eight  years  old 
when  I  transferred  her  to  your  care — a  pretty  lit- 
tle octoroon — almost  white.  She  would  be  nine- 
teen or  twenty  now.  Margot,  I  called  her." 

Froebel's  agitation  was  plain  to  everyone  at  the 
table.  A  look  of  desperate  grief  came  over  his 
face.  His  trembling  fingers  grasped  convulsive- 
ly at  the  lapels  of  his  coat. 

"What  became  of  her?"  asked  his  inquisitor. 

"She — is — dead!"  he  quiveringly  replied. 

Delicado  smiled  again  in  toleration,  and  re- 
marked, "You  are  mistaken,  Senor.  She  is  not 
dead.  I  saw  her  with  you  yesterday  morning  on 
the  Rue  Royale;  I  saw  her  last  Saturday  evening 
at  the  Tivoli." 

"To  whom  do  you  refer,  Monsieur?"  gasped 
Jallot  in  a  tremor,  while  the  old  man,  with  a  groan, 
hid  his  face  in  his  hands. 

"The  young  woman  whom  Senor  Froebel  does 
the  honor  of  calling  his  adopted  daughter!" 

Those  at  the  table  who  knew  Antoinette  were 
thunderstruck  at  this  declaration.  It  seemed  in- 

188 


SOLD  TO  THE  HIGHEST  BIDDER 

credible  to  them  that  one  so  lovely  as  she  should 
have  the  fatal  taint  of  color  in  her  blood.  Jallot 
was  overcome  with  horror,  and  at  the  same  time 
hot  with  indignation,  at  the  cruel  manner  in  which 
Delicado  had  shamed  Froebel.  As  he  looked  at 
the  old  man  a  sort  of  sickness  seized  him.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  in  that  crushed  figure  he  could 
read  confirmation  of  the  Spaniard's  indictment. 

Seeing  the  looks  of  incredulity  which  his  asser- 
tion aroused,  Delicado  added  with  emphasis,  "The 
girl  called  Antoinette  Froebel  is  a  slave,  a  yellow 
slave — my  property!" 

"You  lie,  Monsieur!"  The  challenge  came 
sharply  from  the  lips  of  the  barber. 

The  host  laughed  a  little,  and,  pointing  to  the 
shrinking  form  of  the  German,  exclaimed,  "Look 
at  him!  There's  proof!  He  cannot  deny  it!" 

Jallot  entreated  Froebel  to  speak,  to  deny  the 
charge,  but  the  old  man  would  only  shake  his  head 
and  moan.  At  last,  being  commanded,  he  looked 
up,  showing  a  tear-stained  countenance,  and  mur- 
mured, "I — I  cannot!" 

"Dieuf"  Jallot  dismayed,  shrank  back  in  his 
chair. 

"I'm  disappointed,"  whispered  the  young  Span- 
iard to  the  man  on  his  left.  "I  thought  we  were 
to  be  amused." 

"I  take  it  that  this  is  the  human  document  to 
which  you  referred  a  while  ago,"  observed  Ville- 
bois  to  Delicado. 

189 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

"You  are  quite  right,"  he  rejoined,  and,  ad- 
dressing his  guests  in  general,  added,  "I  fancied 
you  might  be  interested  in  this  extraordinary  case. 
When  I  left  New  Orleans  twelve  years  ago  I 
placed  the  girl,  of  whom  I  have  been  speaking, 
with  all  my  other  property,  in  the  custody  of 
Senor  Froebel.  She  was  a  slave  on  my  planta- 
tion, and  was  entrusted  to  him  with  my  other  chat- 
tels. I  did  not  see  her  again  until  last  Saturday, 
and,  although  her  face  seemed  familiar  to  me,  I 
was  not  assured  of  her  identity  until  I  encountered 
her  again  yesterday  morning.  Then  in  an  instant 
I  recognized  in  the  woman  the  slave  child  I  had 
owned  a  dozen  years  ago  and  own  to-day." 

"Monsieur  Froebel,  is  this  true?"  questioned 
Jallot,  with  emotion. 

"It — it  is  true!"  groaned  the  German. 

Gazonac  burst  out  laughing.  "Hah,  a  yellow 
girl!" 

Froebel  looked  at  him  with  ineffable  pathos, 
and,  addressing  himself  to  the  company,  said,  in 
a  plaintive  voice,  "A  very  little  girl  she  was  when 
Herr  Delicado  left  her  in  my  care.  Such  a  pretty 
child — so  white — nobody  would  think  that  she 
the  least  bit  colored  was.  I  took  her  from  the 
plantation  to  my  house,  where  my  wife — who  is 
dead  now  five  years — learned  to  love  her;  and  we 
both  thought  it  a  shame  that  she  should  grow  up 
like  the  poor  octoroons  to  be.  So  we  gave  her 
another  name,  and  sent  her  abroad  to  be  educated 

190 


SOLD  TO  THE  HIGHEST  BIDDER 

like  the  lady  which  she  is.  Nobody  knows  this — 
not  even  herself — because  she  was  too  little  then 
to  understand.  Some  of  you  know  her  and  have 
seen  what  a  lovely  creature  she  is.  She  has  be- 
come very  dear  to  me.  No  daughter  who  is  all 
white  could  be  more."  This  simple  statement 
seemed  to  Jallot  the  most  momentous  thing  he 
had  ever  heard. 

"That's  like  a  German,"  ridiculed  Lemaitre.  "If 
it  wasn't  for  the  law  they  would  even  make  wives 
of  the  niggers." 

"Which  would  not  be  half  so  bad  as  what  you 
Creoles  make  of  them,"  retorted  Jallot.  "Many  a 
person  of  color  has  a  whiter  soul  than  yours,  Mon- 
sieur !" 

"What  of  that?  It  is  the  blood  that  counts!" 
championed  Gazonac. 

The  Englishman  held  out  a  slender  white  hand, 
and,  pushing  back  his  cuff,  pointed  to  the  vein  in 
his  wrist.  "Your  skin  may  be  white  as  my  linen, 
yet  one  drop  of  black  blood  makes  a  stain  which 
nothing  can  wipe  out." 

"What  a  fuss  we  have  been  making  over  a  yel- 
low girl,"  chuckled  Villebois.  "Nom  de  Dieu,  I 
might  have  married  her!" 

"And  Gazonac,  too,"  gibed  Lemaitre. 

Froebel  shook  a  trembling  finger  at  the  speak- 
er. "She  shall  now  no  one  marry!" 

"You  are  quite  right,"  supplemented  Delicado, 
significantly.  "I  shall  attend  to  that." 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

"You  will  not  take  her  away  from  me?"  en- 
treated the  old  man. 

For  the  first  time  Jallot  detected  a  cruel  glint 
in  the  blue  eyes  of  the  Castilian,  as  he  replied,  "If 
you  want  her,  buy  her  of  me!" 

The  barber  was  tremendously  shocked.  He 
could  scarcely  realize  that  his  host  was  in  earnest. 
"Buy  her?  You  cannot  mean  that?"  he  remon- 
strated. 

"I  do !"  persisted  Delicado. 

Froebel  wrung  his  hands.  "I  cannot  buy  her," 
he  bemoaned.  "To  settle  with  you  has  me  bank- 
rupted." 

"If  she's  for  sale,  I'll  make  an  offer  for  her  my- 
self," submitted  the  young  Spaniard.  "I'm  bound 
I  shall  have  some  amusement  out  of  the  affair!" 

This  proposition  was  received  with  acclaim. 
Almost  every  voice  at  the  table  signified  a  desire 
to  purchase  Antoinette.  Froebel  became  des- 
perate. He  appealed  to  Jallot.  "Stop  them,"  he 
cried.  "Oh,  what  will  become  of  her!" 

"I  can  do  nothing,"  responded  the  barber. 
"Monsieur  Delicado  is  within  his  rights." 

'I  do  not  want  the  woman  myself,"  contended 
the  host;  "and  I  do  require  the  money."  He 
arose,  hammered  on  the  table  with  his  knuckles, 
and  went  on:  "Senors,  this  slave,  Antoinette,  is 
for  sale.  She  is  known  to  many  of  you,  so  that  T 
shall  not  speak  of  her  perfections.  What  am  I 
bid?" 

192 


SOLD  TO  THE  HIGHEST  BIDDER 

"Now,  this  is  amusing!"  beamed  the  young 
Spaniard. 

Froebel  was  on  his  feet.  "Oh,"  he  cried,  "if 
someone  will  only  the  money  lend  me,  I  will  for 
her  one  thousand  dollars  give." 

"But  your  security — heinf"   grinned  Villebois. 

"Only  my  word!" 

The  Creole  shook  his  head.     "Not  negotiable !" 

The  company  found  this  retort  highly  humor- 
ous. 

"Herr  Jallot,  my  friend,  you  will  accommodate 
me,"  begged  the  German;  and  then,  receiving  a 
negative  answer,  he  sank  into  his  chair  again,  thor- 
oughly broken. 

"I  will  give  one  thousand  dollars  for — what's 
her  name !"  announced  the  young  Spaniard. 

"Antoinette,"  volunteered  Villebois,  and  added : 
"I  will  make  it  eleven  hundred !" 

"Twelve  hundred!"  put  in  Gazonac. 

One  of  the  Frenchmen  laughingly  said  that  he 
had  never  seen  the  girl,  but  that  he  would  offer 
thirteen  hundred.  Then,  in  a  series  of  bids,  sup- 
plied in  rapid  succession,  the  price  mounted  to 
nineteen  hundred.  At  this  point  Delicado  de- 
clared Antoinette  to  be  a  great  bargain,  and  ob- 
served that  she  would  be  cheap  at  five  thousand. 

Lemaitre  had  become  a  bidder.  He  calculated 
that  if  he  sold  his  bay  mare  he  could  raise  two 
thousand  dollars,  which,  in  that  party  of  adven- 
turers, was  an  exceedingly  large  sum.  There 

193 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

came  a  pause  then  in  the  offers,  and  the  host,  turn- 
ing to  Villebois,  chided  him  for  abandoning  the 
field  so  soon. 

"You  are  mistaken.  I  was  only  figuring,"  re- 
torted the  Creole.  "She  might  be  a  profitable  in- 
vestment. I  could  dispose  of  her  at  public  sale. 
She  would  bring  a  high  price.  I'll  bid  twenty- 
one  hundred !" 

Gazonac  was  furious.  "I  have  told  you,"  he 
complained,  "that  I  want  the  girl.  Twenty-two 
hundred !" 

"She's  not  worth  it,"  prompted  Lemaitre. 

Villebois  agreed  with  him,  and  refused  to  raise 
his  figure.  The  others,  who  had  no  personal  in- 
terest in  Antoinette,  could  not  be  urged  to  add 
a  dollar  to  Gazonac's  bid;  and  Delicado,  imitating 
the  manner  of  an  auctioneer,  went  on :  "I  am  bid 
twenty-one  hundred  dollars  for  Antoinette  by 
Senor  Gazonac.  Any  more  offers?"  He  looked 
around  the  table,  and  finding  no  encouragement, 
cried,  "Going,  going — " 

"Twenty-five  hundred!"  This  bid  came  unex- 
pectedly from  Jallot,  who  all  the  time  had  kept 
silent. 

Froebel  started  up  with  a  cry  of  gratitude. 
"You  will  buy  her  in  for  me !" 

"Or  for  himself,"  jeered  Lemaitre. 

The  barber  gave  no  indication  of  having  heard 
either  of  these  remarks.  He  was  thinking  how 
strange  a  thing  it  was  to  be  bidding  for  the  person 

194 


SOLD  TO  THE  HIGHEST  BIDDER 

of  Antoinette;  and  pictured  to  himself  how  hor- 
rifying it  would  be  to  her.  It  was  plain  to  him 
now  why  she  had  been  overcome  at  the  sight  of 
Delicado.  Although  she  had  not  realized  who  he 
was  or  what  he  had  been  to  her,  he  was  evidently 
associated  in  her  mind  with  acts  of  cruelty.  The 
fancy  that  the  Spaniard  might  have  inflicted  some 
brutism  upon  Antoinette,  the  child,  filled  Jallot 
with  fury;  and  he  was  resolved  to  exhaust  every 
means  to  save  her  from  any  further  shame  or  de- 
gradation. He  was  therefore  quick  to  respond 
when  Gazonac  cried,  "Twenty-six  hundred !" 

"Twenty-seven  hundred,"  he  submitted. 

"Bravo,"  laughingly  enthused  Villebois.  "He 
means  to  start  another  asylum.  Jallot,  if  I  sub- 
scribe ten  dollars,  will  you  place  me  on  the  board 
of  managers?" 

"I  have  bid  twenty-six  hundred,"  said  Jallot; 
"and  I  ask  your  word  of  honor,  gentlemen,  to 
keep  this  transaction  a  secret  one." 

"You  have  not  bought  her  yet,"  exclaimed  Ga- 
zonac, ominously. 

"Nor  you!"  retorted  the  barber;  and,  appealing 
to  the  others,  asked  if  they  would  give  him  their 
pledges  as  he  had  requested. 

,     "Why  should  we?"  inquired  the  young  Span- 
iard. 

"For  the  same  reason  that  I  entreat  your  prom- 
ise not  to  spread  the  report  that  the  young  woman 
is  an  octoroon :  to  preserve  her  from  the  humility 

195 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

which  such  a  disclosure  would  inflict  upon  her." 

"I  told  you  Jallot  was  benevolent!"  jested  Ville- 
bois. 

"He  is  mercenary!"  declared  Lemaitre.  "If  it 
became  known  that  he  maintained  a  handsome 
yellow  girl,  it  would  injure  his  trade." 

It  was  finally  agreed  that,  should  Jallot  succeed 
in  outbidding  Gazonac,  the  entire  company  were 
pledged  to  withhold  the  word  that  Antoinette  was 
an  octoroon,  and  to  keep  secret  the  purchase. 
Much  to  Jallot's  wonder  it  was  Delicado  who  gave 
him  strongest  support  in  this  contention. 

Gazonac,  grown  impatient  at  the  delay,  ad- 
vanced his  offer  to  three  thousand,  thinking  to 
put  the  price  above  Jallot's  means;  and  he  was 
therefore  greatly  chagrined  when  the  barber  in- 
creased his  bid  by  a  thousand. 

"Five  thousand !"  persisted  Gazonac. 

"Magnificent,"  said  Delicado;  "but  can  you 
command  that  sum?" 

This  question  raised  a  general  laugh;  but 
Gazonac  unperturbed  rejoined  that  he  could 
raise  the  money  on  the  morrow  by  mortgaging  his 
house. 

"Antoinette  is  now  worth  her  weight  in  real  es- 
tate!" sniggered  Villebois. 

"I  am  bid  five  thousand,"  announced  Delicado, 
looking  at  Jallot,  who  promptly  made  a  tender  of 
six  thousand. 

"Ridiculous!"    shouted    Gazonac.     "A    barber 

196 


"I  HAVE  BOUGHT  THE  WOMAN  I  LOVE" 


SOLD  TO  THE  HIGHEST  BIDDER 

with  six  thousand  dollars!" 

"Ridiculous,  but  true.  I  have  five  thousand 
on  deposit,  and  my  bankers  will  loan  me  two  more 
on  my  shop — then — " 

"But  that  is  your  all!"  declared  his  opponent. 
"I  bid  eight  thousand !  Beat  that !" 

The  barber  demurred  and  at  last  appealed  to 
Villebois,  asking  an  advance  of  five  thousand  dol- 
lars. "On  what  security?"  questioned  the  Creole. 

"My  next  play!" 

"That  is  humorous,"  tittered  the  young  Span- 
iard, while  Villebois  shook  his  head,  saying  that  a 
play-manuscript  was  not  negotiable  paper. 

The  host  dipped  a  pen  in  the  ink  and  remarked, 
"I  may  as  well  make  out  a  bill  of  sale  to  Senor 
Gazonac." 

"Wait !"  commanded  Jallot. 

Gazonac  arose  in  remonstrance.  "But  I  have 
offered  eight  thousand !" 

"And  I  bid  ten !"  returned  Jallot,  suavely. 

"I  protest!"  stormed  Gazonac.  "He  cannot 
make  good  his  bid." 

"Ten  thousand  dollars!"  repeated  the  barber. 
As  he  spoke  he  took  a  cheque  from  his  pocket 
and  flung  it  down  on  the  table. 

Delicado  examined  it.  "A  lottery  cheque  for 
ten  thousand  dollars,"  he  announced. 

"Oh,  Herr  Jallot!"  cried  Froebel  in  ecstasy. 

The  table  was  in  a  roar  with  laughter  and  con- 
gratulations for  Jallot.  Only  Lemaitre  and 

197 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

Gazonac  felt  discomfited. 

"It  is  certified — endorsed  to  me,"  said  the  bar- 
ber. 

Delicado  seized  his  pen  again,  and  with  a  flour- 
ish called  upon  Gazonac  for  a  bid.  "You  are  not 
going  to  lose  the  prize?"  he  questioned. 

"Milles  cochons!  He  can  have  her!"  was  the 
savage  rejoinder. 

"Antoinette,  sold  to  Sefior  Jallot,  for  ten 
thousand  dollars!"  exclaimed  the  host,  and  mak- 
ing out  a  bill  of  sale,  gave  it  to  the  highest  bidder. 

The  young  Spaniard  sprang  to  his  feet,  raised 
his  glass  and  cried,  "I  call  for  a  standing  toast  to 
the  man  who  has  bought  Antoinette!" 

Jallot,  who  had  risen  to  receive  the  bill  from 
Delicado,  stepped  aside  from  the  table,  as  the 
company  pledged  his  health.  With  ineffable 
anguish  he  crushed  the  paper  in  his  hands,  think- 
ing, "I  have  bought  the  woman  I  love." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 


The  woman  he  lo'ved !  That  was  how  Jallot 
thought  of  Antoinette,  realizing  that  he  owned 
her  even  as  he  did  the  coat  upon  his  back.  His 
vision  of  the  girl  was  not  tinged  with  remembrance 
of  her  scorn  for  him.  He  saw  her  a  proud,  ador- 
able creature,  moving  with  graceful,  imperious 
tread  through  the  measures  of  a  dance  and  smil- 
ing, with  fond  friendliness,  upon  the  man  who  had 
bought  her. 

The  man  who  had  bought  her!  Jallot  thought 
of  himself  with  a  shudder.  He  looked  down  in 
horror  at  the  bit  of  paper,  which  gave  him  abso- 
lute power  over  her.  He  felt  that  he  had  done 
her  a  terrible  wrong  beyond  repair,  that  he  had 
committed  a  sacrilege. 

He  had  been  under  a  terrific  emotional  strain. 
Momentarily  he  lost  the  power  properly  to  mar- 
shal his  thoughts.  He  charged  the  desperate  de- 
pression he  suffered  to  abhorrence  of  himself  for 
becoming  the  owner  of  Antoinette.  There  was 
chaos  in  his  mind;  anguish  in  his  heart. 

He  was  numbly  conscious  of  a  confusion  of 

199 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

voices,  and  even  distinguished  his  name  shouted 
above  the  seeming  turmoil  of  the  place.  The  com- 
pany at  Delicado's  table  appeared  small,  far-away 
and  receding,  as  figures  do  when  seen  through  an 
inverted  opera  glass. 

An  irresistible  desire  came  over  him  to  escape 
from  the  stress  and  rant  about  him.  He  yielded 
to  it,  and  without  remembering  how  he  had  ef- 
fected his  leave,  presently  found  himself  in  the 
street.  The  night  air  and  a  brisk  walk  to  the 
atelier  cleared  his  head;  and  the  events  of  the 
evening  paraded  in  order  through  his  mind,  re- 
covering their  true  values. 

Although  it  was  late,  a  light  from  his  window 
shone  across  the  court.  Greatly  to  his  comfort 
he  discovered  that  Osbourne,  anxious  to  learn  the 
result  of  the  meeting,  was  awaiting  his  return. 

Jallot  had  but  briefly  acquainted  him  with  the 
night's  amazing  developments,  when  they  were 
surprised  by  Froebel,  who,  in  a  hysteria  of  hope 
and  despair,  had  come  to  the  shop  to  learn  what 
fate  was  designed  for  Antoinette. 

The  old  man's  spirit  was  completely  broken. 
On  the  verge  of  a  collapse,  he  gratefully  accepted 
the  chair  placed  for  him  near  the  cabinet  window, 
and  drank  off  the  glass  of  sherry  which  the  barber 
pressed  upon  him. 

"I  am  very  glad  you  came,"  said  Jallot.  "We 
have  much  to  say  to  each  other  and  you  may  talk 
freely  before  Monsieur  Osbourne,  whom  I  have 

200 


HOPE  HOLDS  COUNCIL 

taken  into  my  confidence.  First  of  all,  please  tell 
me  whatever  you  may  know  of  Mademoiselle  An- 
toinette's history  prior  to  the  day  she  fell  into  your 
hands." 

By  this  time  Froebel  had  grown  calm.  "I  only 
know  that  she  a  slave  was  on  the  plantation  of 
Herr  Delicado,"  he  replied;  "and  that  she  by  the 
name  of  Margot  went." 

"You  took  it  for  granted  that  she  was  a  person 
of  color?" 

"Yes!  How  could  she  a  slave  be  if  she  were 
not?"  The  old  man  apparently  had  no  doubt 
that  Antoinette's  blood  was  tainted. 

"That  is  precisely  what  I  said,"  interposed  Os- 
bourne. 

Jallot  made  a  gesture  of  impatience.  "There 
have  been  white  slaves  before  now.  I  believe  that 
Mademoiselle  is  as  white  as  any  of  us," 

"I  wish  I  of  that  sure  could  be,"  sighed  Froebel. 

They  were  silent  for  a  little  while.  Then  Jal- 
lot addressed  the  German  again.  "Mademoiselle 
Antoinette  must  be  kept  in  ignorance  of  the 
charge  that  she  is  an  octoroon,  and  the  fact  that 
I  have  bought  her.  Such  news  would  make  her 
ill  or — worse!" 

Froebel  nodded  his  head  gravely.  "You  are 
right,  Mein  PI  err.  She  shall  the  truth  not  learn 
from  me."  After  another  pause,  he  inquired  with 
sudden  anxiety,  "Why  have  you  her  bought?" 

There   was   a  tone   of  surprise   in   Jallot's   re- 

201 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

joinder.  "What  do  you  suppose,  but  to  keep  her 
safe  from  those  libertines!"  His  gray  eyes  soft- 
ened, an  expression  of  infinite  tenderness  over- 
spread his  face,  as  he  declared  with  simplicity,  "1 
love  Mademoiselle  Antoinette." 

"You  love  her,  so  you  say,"  returned  the  mer- 
chant, sceptically;  "but  that  may  be  so  bad  for  her 
as—" 

"I  mean  to  marry  her!"  There  was  no  doubt- 
ing Jallot's  sincerity.  Osbourne,  looking  on  with 
interest,  felt  the  power  of  purpose  which  his 
friend  put  into  those  few  words.  For  his  part,  the 
old  man  was  astounded.  It  had  not  occurred  to 
him  that  this  might  be  a  solution  of  the  sad  prob- 
lem which  perplexed  him.  He  rose  unsteadily 
from  his  chair  and  held  out  his  hand  to  the  barber 
with  an  action  which  showed  his  gratitude  far  bet- 
ter than  he  could  have  spoken  it.  "So  you  will 
marry  her!"  His  voice  quavered.  It  seemed  to 
him  as  though  a  weight  of  woe  were  lifted  from 
his  shoulders. 

"If  she  will  consent !" 

"She  must!"  Froebel  had  the  German  idea  of 
absolute  obedience  to  parental  command. 

"That  is  just  the  point.  It  is  not  she  who  must 
consent;  it  is  I  who  must  win  her;  and  I  shall 
brook  no  interference  in  my  favor.  I  have  a  clear 
field  now — all  I  ask." 

"But  she  her  lessons  has  stopped,"  complained 
the  old  man;  "though  she  would  not  tell  me  why. 

2O2 


HOPE  HOLDS  COUNCIL 

Now  that  I  am  bankrupted,  she  cannot  them  re- 
sume, and  because  of  the  difficulties  which  this  set- 
tlement has  brought  to  me,  she  would  not  permit 
me  any  arrangements  to  make  so  that  you  could 
teach  her  once  more." 

Jallot  considered  the  situation  for  a  few  min- 
utes. While  he  missed  Antoinette's  dear  pres- 
ence more  keenly  than  he  would  then  acknowl- 
edge, he  was  more  concerned  in  setting  himself 
right  in  her  eyes.  He  possessed  an  all  too  vivid  re- 
membrance of  the  scorn  and  contempt  with  which 
she  had  looked  upon  him  that  unhappy  morning 
when  she  bade  him  send  her  his  bill.  Should  the 
next  issue  of  "Le  Moniteur"  contain,  as  he  confi- 
dently expected,  the  apology  for  that  insidious 
paragraph,  he  felt  that  he  might  reasonably  hope 
for  a  renewal  of  their  friendly  relations,  if  not  as 
master  and  pupil,  then  in  some  other  fashion 
which  he  must  devise.  In  which  case  he  meant 
to  find  the  way  to  win  her.  Meanwhile  he  pro- 
posed to  assist  with  all  his  might  in  the  rehabilita- 
tion of  Froebel's  broken  fortune.  To  this  end  he 
spoke. 

"You  must  leave  to  me  the  problem  of  Made- 
moiselle's affections,"  he  began.  "But  there  is 
another  matter  of  almost  equal  importance  to  be 
adjusted." 

"What  is  that?"  quizzed  the  merchant. 

"Your  business !     You  say  that  you  are  a  bank- 

203 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

rupt.  Do  you  mean  that  you  are  in  heavy  debt, 
or  that  your  credit  is  exhausted?" 

"I  have  myself  impoverished  to  satisfy  Deli- 
cado.  I  have  nothing  left  but  a  small  income  from 
a  warehouse  property  which  on  the  levee  is.  I 
owe  some  little  money  here  and  there.  That  is 
all;  but  because  of  my  many  losses,  which  the  sea 
from  me  has  taken,  the  bankers  think  that  I  have 
no  luck  left,  so  I  can  get  no  credit." 

"Then  you  are  not  a  bankrupt,"  declared  Os- 
bourne. 

"Certainly  not!"  asserted  Jallot,  and  he  asked 
Froebel  to  tell  them  exactly  how  he  came  to  be 
placed  in  such  a  position. 

"First  the  pirates  cause  me  two  ships  to  lose; 
then  the  storm  another;  then  Delicado  all  the  rest. 
Gott  in  Himmel!  Before  twelve  years  ago,  he  in 
my  hands  his  estate  placed  of  plantation  and  slaves 
consisting.  He  goes  away  and  returns  not.  I 
take  good  care  of  the  estate.  I  put  the  money  in 
bank — for  ten  years.  Then  I  hear  that  he  is  dead. 
He  have  not  heirs.  I  think  all  that  was  his  is 
mine.  I  mortgage  the  estate  to  build  more  ships. 
I  invest  the  money  in  merchandise.  Then  the  sea 
all  that  takes  from  me.  After  twelve  years  re- 
turns the  Spaniard.  I  am  obliged  that  estate  to 
settle.  I  am  exhausted  in  my  means  to  do  so." 

"You  are  not  half  so  badly  off  as  you  might  be," 
encouraged  Osbourne.  "The  difficulty  is  to  re- 
establish your  credit." 

204 


"Which  can  be  done  if  you  begin  in  a  small 
way."  Jallot  then  went  on  to  explain  a  plan,  which 
rapidly  formed  itself  in  his  mind.  He  acquainted 
them  with  the  fact  that  he  had  been  obliged  to 
expend  the  entire  lottery  prize  to  keep  Antoinette 
from  falling  into  the  hands  of  Gazonac,  and  that 
one-half  of  that  sum  belonged  to  Poupet,  whom  he 
knew,  however,  would  not  press  for  payment,  but 
willingly  accept  his  personal  note  for  the  debt. 
He  had  five  thousand  dollars  in  bank,  which  he 
was  ready  to  invest  in  the  restoration  of  Froebel's 
business,  and  he  had  no  doubt  that  Osbourne 
would  be  able  to  raise  an  equal  sum,  bringing  the 
total  up  to  ten  thousand,  sufficient  to  give  the 
merchant  a  basis  for  further  credit.  The  sheriff 
volunteered  to  supply  the  necessary  funds,  and  it 
was  settled  that  on  the  next  day  the  three  part- 
ners should  meet  and  sign  the  papers,  with  the  un- 
derstanding that  the  house  should  be  conducted, 
as  in  the  past,  under  the  name  of  L.  Froebel. 

The  old  German  wept  with  happiness.  "We 
shall  have  enough,"  he  exclaimed,  "to  charter  a 
new  ship — a  small  one  which  shall  so  far  go  only 
as  Pensacola.  That  is  how  we  begin!  Oh,  Herr 
Jallot,  you  the  best  man  in  the  world  are;  also 
Herr  Osbourne !  You  have  new  life  into  this 
old  frame  put;  and  I  could  almost  happy  be,  ex- 
cept for  Antoinette." 

"It  must  come  right,"  affirmed  Jallot.  "I  shall 
leave  nothing  undone  to  learn  who  her  parents 

205 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

were.     We  must  and  shall  prove  her  white." 

"You  are  undertaking  an  impossible  task,  I 
fear,"  put  in  Osbourne. 

"Impossible,  if  you  begin  with  that  idea,"  ex- 
claimed the  barber,  with  warmth.  "I  have  no  pa- 
tience with  those  who  say  a  thing  cannot  be  done. 
The  least  you  can  do  is  to  fail;  but  I  wager  you 
that  there  shall  be  no  failure  in  this  case." 

Froebel  arose  to  go,  his  face  beaming  with  grat- 
itude and  hope.  "I — I — I — can  nothing  say,"  he 
faltered,  quite  overcome;  and,  wringing  the  hands 
of  his  new  partners,  wished  them  good  night. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  FIREFLY  MAKES  LIGHT  FOR  HIS  OWN  SOUL 

Old  Froebel  had  come  to  the  Atelier  Jallot  with 
halting  step,  but  left  it  with  buoyant  tread.  Only 
for  the  necessity  of  picking  his  way  through  the 
dark,  his  eyes  must  have  raised  themselves  from 
the  stepping  stones  to  the  stars;  but  once  he 
stopped  to  look  up  where  the  Southern  Cross  hung 
in  splendor  from  the  vast  nave  of  the  night.  In 
that  bright  constellation  he  found  a  symbol  of 
brave  hope  for  himself  and  began  to  wonder  how 
many  millions  of  people  might  be  fixing  their  eyes 
upon  it  that  very  moment  in  gladness  or  in  sor- 
row. 

Even  as  he  wondered  thus,  Antoinette  sat  on 
her  balcony,  keeping  a  long  vigil,  speculating  with 
fear  upon  the  cause  of  her  foster-father's  pro- 
longed absence,  and  looking  down  upon  the 
strange  and  deserted  Rue  Bienville.  For  two  days 
now  they  had  occupied  these,  their  new  lodgings, 
and,  while  she  made  a  pretence  of  being  pleased 
at  the  change  from  the  stately  villa — with  tapes- 
tried rooms,  flowered  terraces  and  magnolia 
scented  walks — she  mourned  its  loss  in  secret. 

207 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

She  had  faced  the  prospect  of  reduced  circum- 
stances with  courage,  and  even  now  met  the  real- 
ity bravely,  upbraiding  herself  for  yielding  mo- 
mentarily to  the  depressing  influences  of  her  new 
environment.  Her  nature  demanded  charming 
surroundings,  dainty  and  beautiful  things  and 
sovereign-like  service.  All  that  she  cherished  she 
had  been  obliged  to  relinquish,  and  those  frag- 
ments of  richness  and  refinement  which  she  had 
brought  to  her  humble  domicile  only  became  piti- 
ful reminders  of  what  she  had  lost. 

With  foreboding,  the  girl  had  seen  Froebel  go 
out  that  night,  and  in  answer  to  her  solicitous  en- 
treaty, he  had  promised  an  early  return.  As  the 
hours  wore  on,  her  apprehension  grew,  and  she  sat 
there  alone  on  the  balcony  anxiously  listening  for 
the  familiar  stump  of  the  old  man's  cane  on  the 
banquette. 

It  came  at  last,  and  her  quick  ears  were  prompt 
to  detect  its  enlivened  tattoo.  She  was  down  at 
the  street  door  long  before  he  had  drawn  his  key, 
and  as  he  stepped  across  the  threshold,  she  wel- 
comed him  there  with  pretty  affection,  chiding 
him  for  inflicting  her  with  a  troubled  night. 
Where  had  be  been?  What  had  happened?  Why 
had  he  made  such  a  mystery  about  his  going? 
What  had  kept  him  so  late?  Did  his  cheerful- 
ness mean  that  he  had  good  news?  Had  the  sea 
unexpectedly  given  up  the  lost  ship?  She  hurled 
a  volley  of  questions  at  him  as  they  ascended  the 

208 


LIGHT  FOR  HIS  OWN  SOUL 

stair;  and  not  until  they  were  seated  together  in 
the  little  room  with  the  balcony — a  one-time 
shabby  little  room,  which  her  magical  touch  had 
turned  into  a  dainty  boudoir — did  she  take  breath 
and  give  him  chance  to  make  reply. 

He  was  cheerful  and  the  warmth  of  her  greet- 
ing gladdened  his  heart.  At  the  same  time,  as 
he  looked  into  that  lovely  face,  with  its  delicate, 
patrician  features,  a  feeling  of  unutterable  sadness 
swept  over  him,  for  he  was  thinking  of  the  hideous 
charge  which  stood  against  her  blood;  but  he 
thought,  too,  of  Jallot's  implicit  belief  that  she 
was  white,  and  found  new  faith  in  that  opinion  as 
he  gazed  upon  the  ivorine  lustre  of  her  skin. 

"You  should  be  by  this  time  in  bed,"  he  teased, 
noting  the  shadows  under  her  eyes. 

"I  shall  go  as  soon  as  you  have  told  me  of  your 
adventure,  and  not  until  then."  she  declared.  "Be- 
gin!" 

"I  have  secured  new  capital.  My  business  is 
to  be  re-established,"  he  announced  with  a  quaint 
flourish. 

Antoinette  was  overjoyed.  She  expressed  her 
happiness  by  embracing  him,  and  confessed  that 
she  had  been  fearful  lest  good  fortune  might 
never  again  be  their  portion.  How  wonderful  it 
seemed  that  at  the  very  moment  when  the  future 
had  looked  most  dark  to  her,  it  should  suddenly 
be  illuminated  with  hope!  How  foolish  she  had 
been  to  doubt  the  beneficence  of  Providence! 

209 


There  was  nothing  so  terrible  as  poverty!  How 
miraculously  they  had  escaped  its  sinister  shadow ! 
That  happiness,  which  is  the  sun  of  the  soul, 
glowed  in  the  face  of  Antoinette.  She  imparted  it 
to  Froebel,  for  joy  is  a  contagious  thing. 

He  laughingly  warned  her  that  they  had  not 
found  immediate  affluence;  that  for  some  time  they 
must  exercise  the  economy  she  had  so  valiantly 
undertaken;  but  assured  her  that,  from  a  modest 
beginning — practicing  prudence,  minimizing  risk 
and  being  content  with  small  profits  at  first — he 
had  every  reason  to  believe  that  with  the  growing 
trade  of  the  port  they  must  eventually  recover 
every  loss.  Her  spirits  were  a  little  dashed  by 
this,  for  she  anticipated  no  delay  in  returning  to 
their  former  mode  of  living,  but  she  veiled  her 
disappointment,  trying  to  be  philosophical  about 
the  necessity  of  keeping  house  in  mere  lodgings, 
and  resigning  herself  to  the  curtailing  of  expendi- 
tures in  the  way  of  dress  and  entertainment.  After 
all,  she  thought,  it  might  be  much  worse;  and  the 
fact  that  her  foster-father  looked  so  cheerfully 
upon  the  prospect  of  mending  his  fortune,  did 
something  to  atone  for  the  distress  she  suffered. 

She  went  to  bed  much  easier  in  mind  than  she 
had  been  for  many  a  night,  and  in  the  morning 
awoke  as  cheerily  as  the  sunbeams  which  played 
across  her  counterpane.  At  the  simple  breakfast, 
prepared  by  Caresse,  and  set  out  on  a  small  table 
by  the  open  window  through  which  the  fresh  air 

210 


LIGHT  FOR  HIS  OWN  SOUL 

of  the  day  came  in  fragrant  breaths,  Antoinette 
resumed  her  interrogation  of  Froebel,  and 
learned,  to  her  chagrin,  that  Jallot  was  the  archi- 
tect and  financier  of  the  old  man's  newly  reared 
hopes.  Realizing  this,  Antoinette's  impulse  was 
to  cry  out  a  protest,  to  insist  that  her  guardian 
should  accept  no  assistance  from  the  man  whom 
she  believed  to  have  boasted  of  a  conquest  over 
her;  but  as  she  looked  across  the  table  into  the  re- 
juvenated face  of  the  old  German,  she  controlled 
herself,  thinking  how  miserable  he  would  be  if  he 
were  not  permitted  to  seize  the  one,  and  apparent- 
ly the  only,  means  he  had  to  redeem  his  life  from 
failure. 

Accordingly  she  let  him  go  about  the  business 
of  preparing  the  partnership  papers,  without  a 
hint  of  what  was  in  her  mind,  where  churned  the 
contending  forces  of  pride  and  affection.  Finally, 
after  an  hour  or  more  of  indecision,  pride  ruled 
her  will,  and,  calling  Caresse  to  accompany  her, 
she  set  out  for  the  atelier  with  the  purpose  of  re- 
pudiating the  bargain  Jallot  had  made  with  the 
merchant. 

Not  until  she  reached  the  court  did  her  purpose 
falter.  Then  she  experienced  a  moment  of  hesi- 
tation— a  doubt  as  to  the  virtue  of  her  course — 
an  uncertainty  which  must  have  restrained  her 
intention  had  it  pressed  upon  her  half  an  hour  be- 
fore; but  now  that  she  had  gone  so  far,  she  would 
not  turn  back.  She  sent  Caresse  ahead  to  inquire 

211 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

if  Jallot  could  be  seen,  and  awaited  the  answer  in 
trepidation. 

Jallot,  filled  with  expectancy  and  some  concern, 
came  to  the  door  himself,  and  entreated  Antoin- 
ette to  enter.  The  atelier  was  deserted  save  for 
Poupet,  who  vanished  at  a  sign  from  his  master; 
and  the  girl,  looking  about  at  the  familiar  appoint- 
ments, to  avoid  the  questioning  glances  of  Jallot, 
felt  strangely  touched  and  incompetent  to  play 
the  part  she  had  chosen  in  the  rashness  of  her 
pride.  But  there  was  the  man,  holding  a  chair 
for  her  and  politely  waiting  some  word  of  her 
business.  How  should  she  begin?  Not  by  tak- 
ing a  seat  as  though  she  had  come  for  a  friendly 
chat !  She  would  stand.  That  would  indicate 
that  she  meant  her  visit  to  be  brief.  She  would 
speak  quickly  and  go.  Without  a  preface  she  be- 
gan :  "I  cannot  permit  Herr  Froebel  to  accept 
any  assistance  whatever  from  you,  Monsieur,  al- 
though I  appreciate  your  kindness." 

For  an  instant  Jallot  was  puzzled.  Then  he 
comprehended  her  motive  and  at  the  same  time 
understood  that  she  had  come  in  spite  of  her  pride, 
and  on  account  of  it.  Experience  had  taught  him 
that  under  such  circumstances  all  argument  was 
futile;  nevertheless  he  did  not  propose  that  her 
determination  should  interfere  with  the  prospects 
of  Froebel.  While  thinking  this,  he  was  also  en- 
tertaining a  scheme  to  circumvent  her  objection. 

212 


LIGHT  FOR  HIS  OWN  SOUL 

"Very  well,  Mademoiselle,"  he  rejoined,  "I 
shall  withdraw  from  the  partnership." 

His  ready  acceptance  of  her  demand  came  as  a 
surprise.  She  had  expected  him  to  make  some 
protest.  In  fact  she  was  rather  disappointed  that 
he  did  not.  At  once  she  thanked  him,  and  was 
about  to  go,  when  it  flashed  upon  her  that  he 
might  be  deceiving  her.  She  turned  back.  "I 
mean  precisely  what  I  said,  Monsieur.  Herr  Froe- 
bel  cannot  accept  your  assistance  directly  or  indi- 
rectly." 

"Surely,  Mademoiselle,  you  cannot  object  to  a 
partnership  with  Monsieur  Osbourne,  since  he  is 
your  father's  friend  as  well  as  mine,"  ventured 
Jallot. 

Curiously  enough  she  had  laid  her  finger  upon 
the  very  plan  which  Jallot  had  just  devised.  "I 
should  object  for  the  reason  that  you  would  no 
doubt  withdraw  in  person,  but  leave  your  money 
in  the  partnership  under  Monsieur  Osbourne's 
name." 

Jallot  could  scarcely  forbear  a  smile  at  this  dis- 
play of  acumen.  "Oh,"  said  he,  "I  see  you  are 
determined  that  I  shall  not  enjoy  the  privilege  of 
investing  my  money  in  a  profitable  enterprise." 

She  resented  the  light  manner  in  which  he 
couched  this  confession  of  his  purpose,  yet  was 
relieved  to  learn  that  he  was  dealing  frankly  with 
her.  "If  you  will  give  me  your  word  that  you 
will  in  no  way  assist  Herr  Froebel,  I  shall  with- 

213 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

draw  my  objection  to  Monsieur  Osbourne,"  she 
announced. 

While  he  considered  how  he  should  answer, 
some  one  knocked  at  the  atelier  door.  "I  do  riot 
wish  to  go,  Monsieur,  without  your  reply,"  said 
Antoinette;  "and  that  may  be  Herr  Froebel." 

"And  I,  Mademoiselle,  must  have  a  moment  to 
reflect,"  he  returned.  "Perhaps  you  will  be  pa- 
tient enough  to  step  behind  the  screen  with  your 
maid,  until  I  have  dismissed  my  visitor.  I  prom- 
ise not  to  detain  you  long." 

Antoinette  nodded  her  consent  and  joined  her 
bonne  behind  the  great  screen,  which  stood  back 
of  the  barber  chair.  Jallot  then  went  to  the  door 
and  admitted  Gazonac,  who  peremptorily  inquired 
whether  Delicado  had  been  at  the  shop  that  morn- 
ing. The  barber  told  him  that  the  Spaniard  had 
not  yet  put  in  an  appearance;  whereupon  the  con- 
spirator insisted  upon  waiting,  and  suggested  that 
Jallot  might  improve  the  time  by  shaving  him. 

At  first  Jallot  was  inclined  to  excuse  himself, 
with  the  pretext  of  an  engagement,  but  on  second 
thought  it  occurred  to  him  that  an  opportunity 
presented  itself  to  set  him  right  with  Antoinette. 
He  waved  Gazonac  to  the  barber  chair,  and  set 
about  the  business  of  lathering  him. 

"You  have  your  hands  full  these  days,  Mon- 
sieur," said  Jallot. 

"Oh,  yes!  And  you,  too,  I  suppose — particu- 
larly since  you  came  into  possession  of — " 

214 


LIGHT  FOR  HIS  OWN  SOUL 

As  though  by  accident  the  barber  lathered  his 
customer  across  the  mouth,  apologized  and  tact- 
fully guided  the  conversation  from  such  danger- 
ous ground  to  the  subject  of  the  drama. 

"You  are  to  have  a  tragedy  produced  next 
week  at  the  Theatre  Saint  Pierre,  I  believe,"  gos- 
siped Gazonac. 

"Yes;  and  I  am  promised  an  excellent  cast." 

Antoinette  was  growing  impatient.  She  thought 
Jallot  was  treating  her  abominably. 

"Where  do  you  find  the  inspiration  for  your 
plots?"  quizzed  the  customer. 

"In  life!  I  found  an  excellent  plot  in  the  last 
issue  of  'Le  Moniteur.'  " 

"Indeed!" 

"It  contained  a  paragraph  about  a  barber  and 
a  lady.  Did  you  read  it,  Monsieur?" 

Antoinette   instantly   became   interested. 

"You  must  have  noted  the  paragraph,"  Jallot 
humorously  continued;  "because  it  referred  to 
me." 

"Did  it  mention  your  name?" 

"No,  but  it  was  clearly  meant  for  me.  Do  you 
recall  it?" 

"I  can't  say  that  I  do." 

The  barber  was  delicately  shaving  Gazonac's 
chin.  "Perhaps  you  have  not  tried  sufficiently," 
he  suggested. 

"Why  should  I  ?"  The  tone  of  this  retort  was 
belligerent. 

215  j 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

"Because  I  wish  you  to!" 

Gazonac  became  aware  that  the  razor's  edge 
was  pressing  against  his  throat.  "Have  a  care," 
he  cautioned,  nervously;  "you  will  cut  me." 

Without  changing  the  position  of  his  blade,  the 
tonsor  rejoined,  "I  hope  not!  Do  you  recall  the 
paragraph  ?" 

"I  have  some  vague  remembrance  of  it,"  ad- 
mitted the  other. 

"Good!  Refresh  your  memory  further,  and  re- 
call who  wrote  it!" 

Antoinette  was  now  all  excitement.  She  began 
to  understand  the  meaning  of  the  little  drama,  and 
to  realize  that  Jallot  was  producing  it  for  her 
benefit. 

"How  should  I  know  that  ?"  grumbled  Gazonac. 

"This  razor  is  very  sharp  and  my  hand  trem- 
bles!" 

"I  fancy  the  editor  wrote  it  himself." 

Jallot  smiled.  "How  droll  you  are !  Fancy  that 
you  wrote  it  yourself!" 

"Suppose  I  did?"  Notwithstanding  that  he 
could  feel  the  touch  of  steel  at  his  threat,  Gazonac 
;-dared  be  defiant. 

"I  have  supposed  that!" 

"Well?" 

"Monsieur  Gazonac,  confession  is  good  for  the 
soul;  also  for  the  throat  when  the  razor  is  keen." 

"Oh,  you  think  I  wrote  it?"  His  affectation  of 
surprise  was  admirable. 

216 


LIGHT  FOR  HIS  OWN  SOUL 

"I  know  you  did." 

"Then  why  say  more  about  it — particularly  as 
you  have  bought — ?" 

"Merely  a  whim  of  mine,"  interrupted  Jallot 
quickly,  and,  pressing  his  customer's  windpipe  a 
little,  added,  "I  hope  I  am  not  hurting  you." 

Gazonac  became  conciliatory.  "What  do  you 
_want?" 

"The  truth!"  was  the  succinct  reply. 

"If  I  refuse?" 

"They  say  that  this  is  an  excellent  shop  in 
which  to  get  your  throat  cut,"  Jallot  remarked 
with  unction.  "Does  the  edge  annoy  you?" 

"You  have  cut  me,"  remonstrated  Gazonac, 
angrily. 

"A  mere  scratch!  Yet — keep  still,  Monsieur, 
or — !"  It  was  an  incomplete,  but  ominous  threat. 

"Morbleu!"  gasped  the  victim;  "I  wrote  it. 
Now,  if  you  have  finished,  let  me  up !" 

The  barber  held  him  in  the  chair.  "One  mo- 
ment !  You  have  not  said  that  the  paragraph  was 
a  lie!" 

"Why  should  I  say  that?"  It  was  more  of  a 
protest  than  a  question. 

"Simply  that  I  may  enjoy  the  novelty  of  hear- 
ing you  speak  the  truth." 

"Take  your  razor  from  my  throat !"  stormed 
Gazonac. 

"Patience,  and  the  truth,  Monsieur!" 

"It— was— a— lie!" 

217 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

"A  thousand  thanks/'  smiled  Jallot,  laying 
aside  his  razor. 

Gazonac  threw  off  the  apron  and  was  about  to 
leap  up,  when  the  tonsor  flung  an  arm  about  his 
neck  and  forced  him  back  into  the  chair.  "Per- 
mit me  to  complete  your  toilette!"  He  doused 
his  customer's  face  with  cologne.  "That  for 
lagniappe!" 

"Sacre  bleu!   Pig  of  a  barber — !" 

Jallot  smothered  him  with  a  towel.  "I  believe  in 
doing  all  things  thoroughly!  There!"  He  re- 
leased his  victim.  "Powder?" 

"No!"  thundered  the  conspirator,  as  he 
bounded  from  the  chair. 

"Your  hat!"  Jallot  tendered  him  the  beaver 
with  a  bow. 

"You  have  outraged  me;  and  you  shall  have 
double  payment — more  than  you  desire !"  Ga- 
zonac flung  down  a  coin  and  went,  his  coat-tails 
standing  out  straight  behind  him.  He  banged  the 
door  after  him,  and  the  barber,  bolting  it,  turned 
to  see  Antoinette,  who  now  approached  him,  hold- 
ing out  her  hand  contritely. 

"Monsieur"  she  entreated;  "forgive  me." 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  whimsical  expression, 
as  he  took  her  hand.  "With  all  my  heart,  Made- 
moiselle." 

"You  are  generous!" 

"I  shall  be  repaid,  if  you  only  smile  at  me 
again." 

218 


LIGHT  FOR  HIS  OWN  SOUL 

She  smiled  divinely  at  him.  For  the  first  time 
since  their  estrangement  they  were  happy.  Again, 
like  friends,  they  sat  together  in  the  window, 
which  opened  on  the  garden  where  the  June  roses, 
full-blown  and  fragrant,  bowed  to  them  hand- 
somely. 

"Mademoiselle,  your  smile  drives  light  into  the 
dark  corners  of  my  heart,"  beamed  Jallot.  "It  is 
like  the  flash  of  a  firefly  in  the  night." 

"The  firefly  makes  light  for  his  own  soul,  Mon- 
sieur," admonished  Antoinette. 

"You  make  light  for  mine !" 

"And  you  make  light  for — others.  You  have 
forgiven  me,  so  now  I  dare  entreat  you  to  forget 
all  that  I  said  so  unkindly  this  morning,  and  to 
continue  in  your  good  purpose  to  assist  Herr 
Froebel.  Believe  me,  I  shall  feel  much  beholden 
to  you." 

"Oh,  Mademoiselle,  you  must  not  feel  like  that ! 
It  is  all  a  matter  of  business.  I  am  sure  that  it  will 
turn  out  to  be  an  excellent  investment." 

Neither  spoke  then  for  a  little  time.  Jallot  was 
wondering  how  he  might  contrive  to  renew  their 
meetings  without  recourse  to  the  old  and  the 
now  seemingly  impossible  excuse  of  dancing  les- 
sons. 

"You  have  not  asked  for  Jerome,"  he  presently 
reproached,  and  went  on  to  tell  her  that  the  boy 
spent  all  day  at  the  monastery  where  the  good 
fathers  concerned  themselves  with  his  education; 

219 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

and,  when  evening  came,  sent  him  back  to  the 
atelier.  "He  often  asks  for  you,  Mademoiselle," 
continued  Jallot,  "and  I  wish  you  might  come 
sometime  to  see  him." 

Antoinette  promised  that  she  would,  and  turned 
the  conversation  to  the  subject  of  Jallot's  work. 
She  wished  most  to  know  something  of  the  play, 
which  she  heard  was  to  have  its  premiere  the  next 
week.  More  than  willingly  he  confided  to  her 
those  ideas  upon  which  he  based  his  hope  for  its 
success;  and  though  this  communion  was  dear  to 
him,  the  happiness  of  the  hour  was  tempered  with 
sadness,  because  again  and  again  the  thought  oc- 
curred to  him,  with  increasing  piteousness,  that 
she  stood  within  the  prospect  of  a  revelation, 
which  would  crush  her  with  its  ignominy.  He 
could  fancy  nothing  so  overwhelmingly  humilia- 
ting to  her  as  the  belief  that  she  was  an  octoroon; 
and  he  decided  that  he  would  lose  no  time  in  seek- 
ing knowledge  of  her  early  life,  and  that  his  first 
step  would  be  to  catechize  Delicado. 

While  these  sombre  thoughts  intruded,  he 
maintained  a  cheerful  countenance,  and  their  gos- 
siping ran  on  until  a  rap  at  the  door  signalled  an- 
other visitor.  Fearing  that  it  might  be  Froebel, 
Jallot  showed  Antoinette  and  Caresse  out  through 
the  garden  door.  There  he  took  the  girl's  hand 
again,  pressed  it  tenderly,  and  let  it  go  with  re- 
luctance. Though  no  word  passed  between  them, 

220 


LIGHT  FOR  HIS  OWN  SOUL 

both  understood  that  the  friends  of  yesterday  had 
become  something  more  than  friends  to-day. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  FOLLY  OF  BEING   IMPETUOUS 

Osbourne,  not  Froebel,  hastened  Antoinette's 
departure.  The  sheriff  was  anxious  to  confer 
with  Jallot,  and  to  decide  what  course  they  should 
take  to  overthrow  the  conspiracy.  They  had  de- 
termined not  to  acquaint  Governor  Claiborne  with 
the  enterprise  until  they  were  better  informed; 
and  still  Jallot  counselled  secrecy,  holding  that 
any  premature  movement  might  put  to  flight 
those  who  had  so  far  taken  no  active  part  in  the 
organization,  and  against  whom  he  had  yet  to  se- 
cure proof  of  complicity. 

"I  have  been  thinking,"  said  the  American,  as 
they  consulted  together  in  Jallot's  cabinet,  "that 
we  must  arrest  Delicado  before  he  starts  for 
Florida." 

"He  sails  on  the  seventh  of  July.  We  will  wait 
until  the  night  of  his  departure,  when  the  con- 
spirators propose  to  assemble  for  conference.  By 
that  time  I  hope  to  have  the  names  of  the  great 
ones  concerned.  All  the  arrests  must  be  made 
that  night  simultaneously.  You  can  notify  the 
governor  a  few  days  in  advance,  so  that  he  will 

222 


THE  FOLLY  OF  BEING  IMPETUOUS 

be  prepared  to  lend  us  whatever  assistance  we  may 
require.  Do  you  agree?"  asked  the  barber,  in 
conclusion. 

"Of  course !  I  could  not  possibly  have  regulated 
the  affair  as  well  as  you  have.  I  leave  its  direc- 
tion entirely  in  your  hands,"  returned  Osbourne, 
with  an  air  of  satisfaction. 

"That's  settled;  but  we  have  another  matter  to 
take  up  this  morning,"  went  on  Jallot.  "Our 
partnership  with  Froebel.  He  should  be  here 
now.  I  hope  he  will  not  keep  us  waiting,  because 
I  have  a  rehearsal  of  'The  Judgment'  at  the  the- 
atre this  afternoon." 

He  opened  the  door  into  the  atelier,  and  saw 
the  merchant  sitting  patiently  by  the  window  with 
a  notary. 

"I  did  not  wish  to  disturb  you,"  explained  the 
German,  as  Jallot  showed  them  into  the  cabinet, 
where  they  signed  the  partnership  papers;  and 
the  notary  after  affixing  his  seal,  left  them  to  dis- 
cuss their  business. 

"We  are  very  fortunate,"  began  Froebel.  "Only 
this  morning  I  discovered  an  unchartered  bark, 
which  the  name  of  'Olympe'  has.  It  will  do 
very  well  to  trade  between  New  Orleans  and  Pen- 
sacola.  I  am  to  see  her  owner  this  afternoon,  and 
if  you  will  your  permission  give,  I  will  a  bargain 
conclude  with  him  at  once." 

"Do  not  consult  us,"  laughed  Jallot.  "We 
know  nothing  about  business." 

223 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

"Do  whatever  you  think  best,"  supplemented 
Osbourne;  "we  leave  the  management  of  the  con- 
cern to  you." 

Accordingly,  on  that  very  afternoon,  Froebel 
chartered  the  "Olympe,"  and  three  days  later  she 
sailed  on  her  initial  voyage,  clearing  for  the  house 
of  L.  Froebel. 

In  the  meantime  Jallot's  days  were  crowded 
with  activity.  He  was  obliged  to  attend  frequent 
rehearsals  of  his  tragedy,  which  was  to  be  pre- 
sented on  the  following  Monday  night,  and  al- 
though this  took  much  of  his  time,  he  felt  well 
repaid,  as  the  cast  promised  to  give  "The  Judg- 
ment" an  excellent  performance.  Then  the  affair 
of  the  slander  in  "Le  Moniteur"  demanded  his  at- 
tention. Saturday  came  and  still  the  paper  was 
not  published,  and  while  he  had  satisfied  Antoin- 
ette that  the  accusation  was  untrue,  nevertheless 
the  barber  knew  that  others  had  seen  the  para- 
graph and  associated  it  with  him;  besides  he  meant 
that  Allard  should  keep  his  word. 

On  his  way  to  visit  the  editor,  Jallot  fell  in  with 
Osbourne,  who,  hearing  of  the  errand,  insisted 
upon  accompanying  him.  They  found  the  office 
of  "Le  Moniteur"  deserted,  save  for  an  indifferent 
compositor,  who  told  them  that  Allard  had  left 
the  city  for  a  long  voyage. 

"That  is  unfortunate,"  said  Jallot;  "we  shall 
have  to  publish  the  paper  without  him." 

Osbourne  laughed.     The  idea  pleased  him. 

224 


THE  FOLLY  OF  BEING  IMPETUOUS 

"Impossible,  Monsieur,"  yawned  the  composi- 
tor. "You  cannot  make  a  paper  without  an  edi- 
tor, and  even  if  you  had  one,  there  is  nobody  to 
ink  the  press." 

"Nothing  is  impossible  that  must  be  done,"  de- 
clared the  barber.  "If  Monsieur  Allard's  health 
has  compelled  him  to  take  a  vacation,  I  his  friend, 
will  see  that  his  interests  do  not  suffer  in  his  ab- 
sence. Will  you  please  stir  yourself?" 

"I  am  the  compositor  of  the  paper,"  drawled 
that  individual;  "you  need  not  expect  me  to  do 
anything  but  set  up  the  type,  and,  as  there  is  noth- 
ing to  be  composed,  there  is  no  necessity  of  stir- 
ring myself." 

"I  should  not  think  of  asking  you  to  undertake 
any  work  outside  of  your  profession,"  retorted 
Jallot.  "Monsieur  Osbourne  and  I  shall  both  edit 
and  print  the  paper.  All  you  have  to  do  is  to  set 
it  up;  and  we  will  double  your  wage.  You  shall 
have  to  work,  though,  as  you  have  probably  never 
worked  before,  for  we  propose  to  issue  'Le 
Moniteur'  to-night." 

The  compositor  grinned.  "You  will  never  do 
that,"  he  insisted. 

"We  shall  see,"  exclaimed  Jallot.  He  began 
by  taking  off  his  coat,  and  Osbourne  followed  his 
example.  To  lighten  their  labors  they  decided  to 
use  whatever  matter  they  could  find  in  type,  and, 
much  to  their  relief,  discovered  a  sufficient  num- 
ber of  items  to  fill  more  than  a  page.  Osbourne 

225 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

assembled  these,  ready  for  the  press,  while  Jal- 
lot  sat  down  to  write  the  retraction  in  a  form  that 
would  have  made  the  editor  gasp  with  dismay. 
In  a  few  minutes  it  was  in  the  hands  of  the  com- 
positor, who,  with  half  his  pay  in  his  pocket, 
waked  from  his  lethargy  and  went  cheerfully  to 
work. 

The  amateur  editors  held  a  conference,  and, 
cudgelling  their  brains,  were  soon  busily  engaged 
in  scribbling  off  such  news  and  gossip  as  had  late- 
ly come  to  their  notice.  For  a  while  they  worked 
along  merrily,  but  as  the  hours  wore  on  and  they 
had  scarcely  written  one-half  the  copy  they  re- 
quired, Osbourne  flung  aside  his  pen  in  despair. 

"I've  put  down  every  bit  of  gossip  I  know — • 
from  the  announcements  of  your  tragedy  and  the 
bal  masque  at  the  Tivoli,  to  the  departure  of  The 
Olympe'  and  the  funeral  of  Old  De  Neville;  not 
to  mention  all  the  jests  I  have  ever  heard,  and 
some  few" — laughing  with  assumed  conceit — 
"which  I  hope  will  be  heard  again.  I  declare  that 
I  can  think  of  nothing  else,  and  if  I  had  another 
idea  I  am  too  exhausted  to  make  use  of  it."  He 
leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  mopped  his  forehead. 

Jallot  kept  on  writing,  nor  did  he  pause  until  he 
heard  the  compositor  say  that  he  had  more  than 
enough  copy  to  keep  him  continuously  busy  for 
two  days.  "Then  we  must  have  assistance,"  said 
the  barber.  "Are  there  no  other  men  of  your 
profession  to  be  found  in  the  city?" 

226 


THE  FOLLY  OF  BEING  IMPETUOUS 

"There's  a  printer's  shop  in  the  Rue  Chartres, 
just  this  side  of  the  Place  d'  Armes.  You  might 
find  one  there,"  suggested  the  compositor. 

On  this  hint,  Osbourne  agreed  to  act,  and, 
promising  that  he  would  return  with  the  entire 
printing  establishment  under  his  arm,  went  out. 
While  he  was  gone,  Jallot,  driving  away  at  his 
work,  and  presenting  only  the  top  of  his  head  to 
the  counter,  suddenly  became  conscious  of  a  voice, 
saying,  "Pardon  me,  Monsieur;  are  you  the  edi- 
tor?" 

He  looked  up  into  the  face  of  Antoinette.  Their 
astonishment  was  mutual.  Even  the  stoical 
Caresse,  who  stood  at  Mademoiselle's  elbow,  was 
surprised  to  see  Jallot  in  this  new  role.  Antoin- 
ette broke  the  silence  with  a  little  laugh,  and  the 
craftsman,  with  a  word  of  apology,  reached  for  his 
coat. 

"Pray  do  not  disturb  yourself,"  besought  the 
young  woman.  "I  am  going  immediately.  I — I 
merely  came  to — to  see  the  editor." 

"I  am  the  editor,  for  the  time  being,"  smiled 
Jallot;  "and  whatever  business  you  may  have  had 
with  Monsieur  Allard  you  may  safely  trust  to 
me." 

"Will  you  tell  me,  Monsieur,  is  there  anything 
•which  you  cannot  do?"  she  inquired  whimsically, 
thinking  to  divert  his  attention  from  any  question- 
ing as  to  the  purpose  of  her  visit. 

227 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

"There  are  a  great  many  things  I  haven't  tried," 
he  replied. 

"I  don't  suppose  there  is  anything  you  would 
not  undertake!" 

"Possibly  not,  if  I  had  sufficient  reason.  Just 
now,  Monsieur  Allard,  the  editor  and  proprietor  of 
'Le  Moniteur,'  is  away;  and  you  find  me  obliged 
to  assume  his  duties  in  order  that  there  may  be  no 
delay  in  the  retraction  of  a  canard  which  reflected 
upon  my  character.  You  no  doubt  recall  the  par- 
agraph to  which  I  refer." 

Her  blush  showed  him  that  she  did,  and  for 
want  of  something  else  to  say  she  remarked,  "I 
do  not  know  Monsieur  Allard." 

"Then  this  visit  is — eh — professional  ?"  inquired 
Jallot.  "You  have  a  contribution  for  the  paper?" 

Antoinette  was  visibly  embarrassed. 

"I  am  right,"  he  asserted.  "Then,  let  me  tell 
you,  Mademoiselle,  you  have  come  at  the  most 
opportune  moment.  We  are  sadly  in  want  of 
material  for  the  next  issue.  If  you  have  brought 
verse,  essay,  or  narrative,  I  assure  you  that  we  shall 
be  delighted  to  make  use  of  your  composition." 

"I  confess,"  she  rejoined,  with  some  reluctance, 
"that  I  have  had  the  temerity  to  write  a  foolish 
little  essay  which  I  would  have  dared  to  offer  a 
stranger  but  not  you,  Monsieur." 

Jallot  affected  to  be  injured.  "Mademoiselle,  I 
am  sure  I  have  better  taste  than  the  man  who 
usually  occupies  the  editorial  chair  in  this  estab- 

228 


THE  FOLLY  OF  BEING  IMPETUOUS 

lishment.  I  shall  see  at  once  the  merits  of  your 
work,  whereas  he  would  have  certainly  failed  to 
appreciate  the  delicate  sentiments  which  have 
taken  wing  from  your  thoughts.  I  entreat  you  to 
let  me  read  your  essay." 

She  protested,  but  he  insisted;  and  at  last  the 
manuscript  lay  on  the  counter  before  him.  He 
read  it  through  with  interest,  and  all  the  while  An- 
toinette watched  his  face  with  varying  emotions. 
She  was  anxious  that  it  should  please  him,  but 
fearful  that  he  would  not  be  frank  with  her. 
"Now  tell  me  truly,"  she  implored,  when  he  had 
finished,  "whether  it  is  worth  anything." 

"You  have  a  gift,  Mademoiselle.  This  is  charm- 
ing, far  more  so  than  I  even  hoped.  I  trust 
you  will  let  me  use  it;  and  I  wish  you  had  more  to 
offer." 

Antoinette  could  not  doubt  him.  His  encour- 
agement inspired  her.  She  felt  as  though  she 
must  hurry  back  to  the  lodgings  and  set  down 
the  happy  ideas  which  danced  through  her  mind. 
"I  shall  be  greatly  obliged  if  you  will  print  it,"  she 
said ;  "but  that  is  all  I  have — now." 

"Could  I  not  induce  you  to  write  me  something 
else  immediately?"  he  wondered.  "It  would  be  a 
great  favor  to  me  as  I  have  undertaken  to  publish 
'Le  Moniteur'  to-night." 

"I  should  be  glad  to  help  you,  Monsieur,  but 
there  is  so  little  time.  Here  it  is,  three  o'clock 
already !" 

229 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

"Perhaps,  if  you  were  willing,  I  might  find  a 
place  in  the  office  where  you  could  write,  unseen 
and  undisturbed."  He  saw  that  her  surprise  at 
this  proposal  was  followed  by  an  expression  of  ir- 
resolution of  which  he  was  quick  to  take  advan- 
tage. "There  is  a  table,  behind  that  great  pile  of 
paper,"  he  tempted.  "You  would  be  almost  as 
private  there  as  in  your  own  house." 

The  girl  was  not  proof  against  the  desire  to  put 
her  fancies  into  words  with  the  certainty  of  seeing 
them  in  print,  and  she  was  also  anxious  to  be  of 
assistance  to  the  man  who  had  done  so  much  for 
her  foster-father;  but,  more  than  this  she  uncon- 
sciously yielded  to  a  certain  ordering  of  her  heart. 

Jallot  made  her  as  comfortable  as  possible  in  the 
far  corner  of  the  office,  where  she  was  screened 
from  view  by  the  high  barricade  of  white  paper, 
and  placed  a  chair  near  her  for  Caresse,  who  pre- 
sently fell  asleep.  Back  at  his  desk  again,  the 
editor  pro  tem  discovered  that  the  proximity  of 
the  woman  he  loved  in  no  wise  contributed  to 
concentration  of  thought.  Nevertheless  he  kept 
steadfastly  to  his  task;  and  two  hours  later,  when 
Osbourne  returned  with  a  brace  of  compositors, 
the  editor  announced :  "Our  work  has  so  far  pro- 
gressed that  I  know  we  can  publish  the  paper  to- 
night." 

In  a  whisper  he  related  to  Osbourne  the  circum- 
stances of  Antoinette's  visit  and  warned  him  not 
to  disturb  her.  The  sheriff,  suppressing  his  mirth 

230 


THE  FOLLY  OF  BEING  IMPETUOUS 

over  the  incident,  set  the  compositors  before  the 
types,  and  began  clearing  the  press  for  printing. 
At  six  o'clock  Jallot  asked  the  American  to  go 
to  the  nearest  cafe  and  order  a  dinner  sent  into 
the  office.  In  his  absence,  the  editor  turned  to 
Antoinette  and  insisted  that  she  should  put  down 
her  pen. 

"But  I  have  not  finished,"  she  complained. 

He  picked  up  her  manuscript  and  looked  it  over. 
"I  beg  your  pardon,  Mademoiselle,  but  you  have 
finished.  Here  is  a  capital  conclusion.  You  have 
gone  on  to  say  the  same  thing  over  again,  which 
shows  me  that  you  are  weary."  As  she  dropped 
her  head  in  chagrin,  he  added:  "That  is  nothing 
to  be  ashamed  of.  Few  writers  know  when  to  stop. 
If  they  did,  what  would  be  the  use  of  editors?"  All 
this  was  in  a  tone  of  tenderness.  It  caused  her  to 
raise  her  eyes  to  his,  surprising  a  look  of  longing, 
which  touched  her  even  more  deeply  than  the  tim- 
bre of  his  voice. 

She  was  standing  close  to  him.  Caresse  was 
still  asleep.  The  wall  of  paper  shielded  them  from 
the  busy  compositors.  They  were  both  tired,  and 
therefore  the  more  easily  ruled  by  impulse.  His 
hand  found  hers  of  its  own  seeking,  and  she  let 
herself  be  drawn  to  him  without  a  show  of  re- 
sistance. Only  as  his  arm  closed  about  her  and  he 
stooped  as  though  to  kiss  her,  did  she  realize  the 
full  significance  of  the  moment.  Then,  with  a  lit- 
tle cry,  she  thrust  him  away,  her  palms  pressed 

231 


against  his  breast  and  her  eyes  glowing — more 
angry  with  herself  than  with  him. 

This  was  something  he  was  not  given  to  know. 
He  stepped  back  from  her,  overwhelmed  with  re- 
morse, and  stood  there  the  embodiment  of  hu- 
mility, while  she  roused  Caresse,  and  without 
looking  at  him  again  or  venturing  a  word  went 
to  the  door.  Expressions  of  apology,  and  en- 
treaties for  forgiveness,  halted  on  the  tip  of  his 
tongue,  for  what  could  he  say  that  would  right  him 
without  adding  to  her  embarrassment,  encom- 
passed about  as  they  were  with  so  many  strange 
ears? 

So  he  suffered  her  to  go  and  remained  behind, 
in  ignorance  of  the  fact  that  she  had  all  but 
exonerated  him.  He  believed  that  he  had  worked 
his  own  undoing  in  the  very  hour  when  his  cause 
seemed  to  prosper  as  it  never  had  before.  Why 
had  he  not  been  satisfied  to  await  a  more  pliant 
hour  when  less  rudely  he  might  have  won  from 
her  the  largess  of  affection  which  he  had  so  rashly 
thought  to  take?  This  was  the  question  he  put 
to  himself  as  he  sat  miserably  at  the  desk,  absently 
'thumbing  the  pages  covered  with  the  thoughts 
that  Antoinette  had  so  happily  set  down. 

He  was  presently  roused  from  this  melancholy 
revery  by  Osbourne,  and  the  approach  of  dinner, 
but  Jallot  had  no  appetite.  Still,  as  always,  in  times 
of  depressed  spirits,  his  mind  went  avidly  about 
the  work  at  hand.  Misfortune  in  one  way,  only 


THE  FOLLY  OF  BEING  IMPETUOUS 

served  to  stimulate  his  purpose  in  another.  He 
prodded  the  compositors,  re-enthused  Osbourne, 
and,  having  performed  prodigies  of  editing  him- 
self, assembled  the  types  and  began  the  printing 
of  the  paper.  His  indomitable  energy  and  per- 
sistence prevailed  against  all  obstacles,  so  that  late 
in  the  night  he  lifted  from  the  press  the  last  copy 
of  that  week's  issue  of  "Le  Moniteur  de  la 
Louisiane." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  BEST  OF  THE  SPOIL 

As  Jallot  opened  his  eyes  to  the  morning  light, 
his  first  thought  was  of  Antoinette.  Indeed,  some 
fancy,  embodying  her  form,  always  seemed  to  be 
lying  in  wait  for  his  awakening;  but  on  that  par- 
ticular day  his  mind  roused  troubled  at  this  visita- 
tion, since  he  saw  a  frown  upon  the  face  of  the 
woman  he  loved.  He  remembered  how,  on  the 
previous  day,  he  had  invited  her  displeasure  by 
yielding  to  an  impulse  of  his  indiscreet  heart.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  he  had  torn  a  rent  in  the  cloak 
of  their  friendship,  but  he  wisely  concluded  that  he 
must  leave  the  mending  of  it  to  time,  the  great 
repairer  of  rifts. 

With  the  dismissal  of  that  worry,  he  began 
thinking  about  the  problem  of  establishing  her 
parentage,  and  to  the  solving  of  it  he  was  resolved 
to  give  his  immediate  concern,  for  the  day  was 
drawing  near  when  Delicado  was  to  sail  for  Flor- 
ida. He  felt  certain  that  the  Spaniard  possessed 
some  knowledge  of  Antoinette's  birth,  and  there- 
fore, at  an  early  hour  that  Sunday  morning,  he 
knocked  at  the  door -of  No.  n  Rue  Toulouse. 

234 


THE  BEST  OF  THE  SPOIL 

The  lazy-eyed  servant,  who  answered  his  sum- 
mons, declared  that  Delicado  had  gone  up  the 
river  and  would  not  be  back  for  a  week.  This 
announcement  disturbed  Jallot  all  the  more.  He 
was  impatient  to  begin  the  tracing  of  Antoinette's 
history,  fearful  lest  some  accident  might  prevent 
the  Spaniard's  return  and  so  destroy  for-  him  the 
one  link  between  Mademoiselle  and  her  ancestry. 
This  anxiety  was  in  a  measure  relieved  when  he 
met  Villebois  and  learned  from  him  that  Delicado, 
whose  voyage  was  in  the  interest  of  the  conspiracy, 
had  faithfully  promised  to  be  in  New  Orleans  not 
later  than  the  third  of  July. 

In  affairs  of  moment  Jallot  was  wont  to  control 
his  naturally  impatient  spirit,  but  now  he  would 
have  chafed  under  the  enforced  delay  if  the  rehear- 
sals of  "The  Judgment"  had  not  demanded  his 
attention  for  the  next  two  days,  diverting  his 
thoughts  and  consuming  his  superfluous  energy. 

The  premiere  of  his  drama  was  happily  accom- 
plished. Again,  from  the  rear  of  the  theatre,  but 
with  different  feelings,  Jallot  watched  the  per- 
formance of  a  play  into  which  he  had  put  the  best 
of  himself.  His  first  doubts  for  its  success  speedily 
gave  way  to  the  certainty  of  its  triumph,  as  it  be- 
came clear  to  him  that  the  audience  understood 
his  purpose  and  followed,  with  enthusiasm,  the 
development  of  his  tragic  story.  When  the  cur- 
tain closed  upon  the  final  scene,  the  spectators 
sat  still  for  a  moment  under  the  spell  of  the  drania- 

235 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

list,  and  then  broke  into  spontaneous  applause. 
As  the  cries  of  "bravo"  echoed  throughout  the 
theatre,  Jallot  wondered  how  he  had  managed  to 
write  such  a  play,  and  offered  up  a  prayer  of  grati- 
tude to  the  muse  who  had  guided  his  pen.  With 
calls  for  "the  author"  ringing  in  his  ears,  the  barber 
hurried  away,  panic-stricken  with  his  success,  and 
sat  up  half  the  night  planning  another  tragedy. 

On  the  following  day  he  received  a  visit  from 
Philippe  Trudeau,  who  came  puffing  into  the 
atelier,  his  fat,  florid  face  corrugated  with  smiles. 
At  the  sight  of  Jallot,  he  made  a  quaint  obeisance 
and  wrung  his  hand  in  ponderous  affection,  saying 
that  he  was  exceedingly  proud  of  his  protege's 
success  and  was  delighted  to  announce  that  the 
directors  of  "La  Comedie"  were  so  impressed  by 
the  new  tragedy  that  they  stood  ready  to  commis- 
sion its  author  to  write  regularly  for  their  theatre. 
The  old  Creole  further  assured  Jallot  that  he  would 
be  handsomely  rewarded  for  his  work  and  that 
they  proposed  to  open  negotiations  for  the  per- 
formance of  "The  Judgment"  in  other  cities; 
adding  that  all  these  evidences  of  recognition 
would  surely  lead  to  an  increase  in  his  revenue 
and  reputation. 

"Monsieur  Jallot,"  said  Trudeau,  in  conclusion, 
as  he  helped  himself  generously  from  the  play- 
wright's snuff-box,  "if  you  wish  to  become  asso- 
ciated with  the  Theatre  Saint  Pierre  in  the  capac- 
ity of  author,  you  must  abandon  the  folly  of  main- 

236 


THE  BEST  OF  THE  SPOIL 

taining  your  shop.  You  will  pardon  me,  but  it 
is  scarcely  in  keeping  with  the  art  you  practice 
with  such  distinction." 

"I  assure  you,  Monsieur,"  laughed  Jallot,  "that 
I  do  not  conduct  this  atelier  for  the  sake  of  a  whim, 
but  as  a  matter  of  necessity." 

"But  the  acceptance  of  our  offer  will  remove 
that  necessity." 

"Then  we  need  say  no  more,"  returned  the  bar- 
ber; "I  accept  it." 

"I  shall  have  the  agreement  put  in  writing,  and  I 
promise  you  that  the  terms  will  be  liberal." 

Jallot  bowed.  "I  know  that  I  may  safely  leave 
that  question  to  your  generosity;  and  I  wish  you  to 
know  how  grateful  I  am  for  the  very  friendly  in- 
terest you  have  taken  in  my  welfare.  I  only  hope 
that  my  future  work  will  prove  as  satisfactory  to 
you  as  'The  Judgment.'  Of  course  I  can  promise 
nothing,  except  that  it  will  be  the  best  I  can  pro- 
duce." 

Trudeau  picked  up  his  hat  with  a  chuckle.  "I 
am  glad  to  hear  you  talk  like  that,"  he  commented. 
"It  indicates  that  your  head  still  rests  squarely  on 
your  shoulders  in  spite  of  your  being  a  genius. 
Good  morning!" 

After  he  had  gone,  Jallot  looked  slowly  about 
the  atelier,  giving  each  and  every  thing  a  glance 
of  affection  and  wondering  whether  he  would  not 
sometimes  long  for  the  very  shackles  which,  after 
so  many  years  of  endurance,  he  had  now  struck  off. 

237 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

His  meditation  was  broken  by  his  assistant  who 
came  in  bearing  his  luncheon.  "Poupet,"  he  began, 
"for  a  long,  long  time  you  have  rendered  me  faith- 
ful service  and  real  friendship;  but  we  have  come, 
and  I  regret  it,  to  the  place  where  each  must  go 
his  own  way.  I  am  obliged  to  give  up  the  ad- 
ministration of  the  atelier  in  order  to  devote 
myself  to  writing  for  the  Theatre  Saint  Pierre." 

The  quadroon  wept.  "Oh,  Michie,"  he  cried, 
"why  fo'  yo'  do  dad?  Who  can  shave  like  yo'? — 
teach  de  dance? — hoi'  de  foil?" 

"But  you  shall  inherit  it  all,  my  friend.  The 
shop  is  yours  by  right  of  succession,  just  as  it  came 
to  me  from  old  Dominique;  and  that  will  settle  my 
debt  to  you,  if  you  will  have  it  so." 

"Id  ain't  de  shop,  Michie,  or  anyting  else  whad 
Ah  care  'boud;  only  dad  Ah  kin  no  mo'  be  yo'  as- 
sistand."  Then,  after  a  moment's  reflection,  he 
brightened  up  and  added:  "Michie,  Ah  tell  yo' 
whad  yo'  kin  plez  dd  mebbe.  Yo'  goin'  live  here 
juz  de  same  an'  write  yo'  plays  in  de  cabinet.  Dad 
good  bizness  fo'  Poupet!  He  kin  say  at  his  cus- 
tomers :  "  'Sieur  Jallot  ged  his  inspiration  in  dese 
shop' — hein?" 

Jallot  gave  the  quadroon  his  hand.  "I  agree  to 
that,  Poupet.  Ah,  if  your  head  was  as  big  as  your 
heart,  you  would  be  a  great  man !" 

"So  long  yo'  like  de  heart  of  Poupet,  he  care 
notten  'boud  de  haid." 

The  barber  was  quite  as  well  pleased  with  this 

238 


THE  BEST  OF  THE  SPOIL 

arrangement  as  Poupet,  since  he  was  comfortably 
quartered  over  the  atelier  and  could  enjoy  its 
cabinet  and  the  garden,  which,  under  the  quad- 
roon's care,  was  kept  in  a  state  of  perpetual 
blossoming. 

There,  in  the  shade  of  its  rose  trellis,  Jallot  used 
to  sip  his  coffee  of  an  afternoon  and  build  vast 
plans  for  the  future;  and  there,  that  very  day,  a 
page,  wearing  the  livery  of  Honore  de  Bienville, 
a  director  at  the  Theatre  Saint  Pierre,  brought 
him  an  ace  of  hearts  on  the  back  of  which  was 
written  an  invitation  to  the  bal  masque  at  the 
Tivoli.  Jallot  knew  then  that  the  success  of  "The 
Judgment"  had  done  more  for  him  than  put  money 
in  his  purse. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

VIOLET  DOMINOES 

Once  in  every  week  the  noblesse  of  New 
Orleans  assembled  at  the  Tivoli  to  dance.  Now 
and  again  these  sociabilities  took  the  form  of  a 
bal  masque.  This  afforded  that  essentially  Parisian 
community  the  delightful  excuse  for  a  fete  of  daz- 
zling color,  and  gave  belles  and  beaux  the  protec- 
tion of  becoming  disguises  under  which  they  might 
practice  with  impunity  the  art  of  coquetry  and  the 
craft  of  love-making. 

In  preparation  for  these  entertainments,  old 
cedar  chests,  crumbling  leather  trunks  and  dust 
covered  high-boys,  yielded  up  their  wealth  of  an- 
cestral finery,  which  had  dazzled  the  courts  of 
mother  lands,  or  seen  service  in  the  days  of  the 
Cruel  O'Reilly  and  the  early  French  regime.  Mo- 
distes reaped  a  harvest  for  cunning  creations 
in  fantastic  designs,  and  tailors  sat  up  night  after 
night  to  cut  and  fit  the  whimsical  conceits  of  dan- 
dies. There  were  others  of  noble  birth,  whose 
exchequers  permitted  no  such  extravagance,  and 
these  made  shift  to  deck  themselves  by  their 
own  handicraft.  Such  was  their  ingenuity  and 

240 


VIOLET  DOMINOES 

skill  that  often  enough  they  outshone  their  an- 
ciently-accoutered  and  professionally-costumed  ri- 
vals. 

Antoinette,  for  one,  was  obliged  to  call  upon  her 
own  resources  to  gown  herself  for  the  forthcoming 
ball  at  the  Tivoli;  and  to  that  end  she  set  about 
the  making  of  a  domino  from  a  roll  of  violet  silk 
which  remained  from  her  days  of  affluence. 

While  she  was  thus  engaged,  Ottilie,  who  had 
not  seen  her  since  Froebel  had  sold  the  villa  on 
the  Bayou  Road,  came  down  the  Rue  Bienville, 
looking  for  Antoinette's  lodgings.  The  number, 
73,  showed  indistinctly  on  the  door  post  of  the 
little  brick  house,  which  was  two  and  a  half  stories 
high,  and  topped  with  a  tiled  roof  and  a  dormer 
window.  The  second  story  boasted  a  latticed 
casement  and  a  balcony,  and  it  was  there  that  An- 
toinette sat  sewing.  Tonton,  whose  bright  eyes 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  girl  through  the  partly 
drawn  curtains,  pointed  her  out  to  Ottilie,  who 
lost  no  time  in  bringing  Caresse  to  the  door.  The 
instant  it  was  opened  she  darted  by  the  bonne  and 
up  the  stairs,  and  precipitated  herself,  regardless 
of  ceremony,  into  the  arms  of  Antoinette. 

"Coton  mail"  she  cried;  "you  lovely  truant!  I 
have  a  mind  to  scold  you.  To  think  I  never  should 
have  known  where  you  were  if  had  I  not  met  Mon- 
sieur Froebel  this  morning  on  the  Place  d'Armes. 
What  do  you  mean  by  hiding  yourself  from  me?" 

"Cherie,  I  have   not    been  hiding  myself    from 

241 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

any  one,  much  less  from  you,"  protested  An- 
toinette, returning  Ottilie's  embrace.  "We  have 
been  so  busy  establishing  ourselves  here  that  I 
have  not  even  taken  a  turn  on  the  levee  for  days." 

"I  forgive  you,  dearest,  merely  because  I  am 
bursting  with  gossip  for  your  ears,  and  ravenously 
curious  to  know  what  has  befallen  you  since  you 
left  The  Magnolias.'  " 

"Then  you  begin,"  encouraged  Antoinette, 
"while  I  go  on  sewing." 

"What  lovely  silk!"  exclaimed  the  Creole  girl, 
catching  up  the  material  and  holding  it  so  that 
the  light  fell  fairly  upon  its  delicate  sheen.  "Pray, 
what  are  you  making?" 

"Nothing  but  a  simple  little  domino  for  the 
bal  masque  at  the  Tivoli.  Do  you  like  it?" 

"Beautiful!"  She  clasped  her  mittened  fingers 
under  her  chin  with  pretty  ecstasy.  "It  will  be 
tremendously  becoming  to  you,  cherie,"  she  added 
enthusiastically.  "Besides,  it  is  bound  to  be  eco- 
nomical !  You  can  wear  almost  any  gown  under 
it." 

"It  is  not  on  that  account  that  I  am  making  it 
into  a  domino,"  smiled  Antoinette.  "It  was  sim- 
ply to  avoid  being  worn  to  death  by  the  endless 
fittings  of  a  modiste;  and  then,  too,  I  am  weary  of 
being  trumped  out  for  all  the  world  like  a  play 
actress." 

"How  sensible  you  are.  I  have  a  notion  to  go 
in  a  domino,  too."  She  pondered  for  a  moment, 

242 


LET  Us  WEAR  OUR  HEARTS  ON  OUR  SLEEVES' 


VIOLET  DOMINOES 

understanding  very  well  that  Antoinette  could 
not  afford  the  service  of  a  modiste;  and  while  she, 
herself,  had  already  obtained  an  elaborate  costume, 
her  kind  heart  revolted  at  the  idea  of  appearing 
to  better  advantage  than  her  dearest  friend.  At 
that  instant  an  idea  came  to  her,  which  promised 
to  solve  the  problem  happily.  "My  dear,"  she 
began,  "would  it  not  be  splendid  if  we  should  each 
wear  a  violet  domino  at  the  ball?  Fancy  the 
delicious  confusion  we  should  cause,  having  much 
the  same  figure  and  being  dressed  precisely  alike. 
Think  what  sport  we  could  make  of  the  men!" 

"I  should  like  nothing  better,"  declared  An- 
toinette. "I  have  more  than  enough  material  for 
two  dominoes  and  we  can  make  them  together." 

They  ratified  the  bargain  with  an  embrace,  and 
Ottilie  pointed  out  that  they  should  give  the 
dominoes  some  conspicuous  decoration,  which 
would  be  sure  to  set  them  apart  from  all  others. 

"For  that  night  let  us  wear  our  hearts,  em- 
broidered in  silver,  on  our  sleeves,"  laughingly 
suggested  Antoinette.  This  proposal  met  with 
the  thorough  approval  of  the  Creole  girl,  who  took 
off  her  bonnet  and  mittens  and  set  about  the  fash- 
ioning of  her  domino. 

"Now  for  your  gossip,"  resumed  Antoinette,  as 
she  plied  her  needle.  "You  were  to  begin." 

Ottilie  moved  her  pretty  head  with  a  negative 
action.  "I  am  sure  that  you  have  something  more 
interesting  to  relate  than  I  have." 

243 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

"On  the  contrary,  cherie,  my  life  for  the  past 
week  has  been  most  prosaic.  My  father  and  I 
found  the  management  of  the  villa  palling  upon 
us,  so  we  determined  to  give  it  up  and  take  these 
simple  lodgings,  where  he  is  close  to  his  counting- 
room  and  where  I  am  relieved  of  the  direction  of  a 
great  household.  You  have  no  idea,"  she  con- 
cluded, "how  much  happier  I  am." 

Ottilie  was  almost  persuaded  that  this  was  the 
truth  as  she  looked  at  the  quaint  furnishings  about 
her.  The  room,  which  was  only  small  enough  to 
be  cosy,  presented  a  smiling  appearance  with  the 
sun  blinking  in  through  the  cross-barred  curtains. 
Its  cream  tinted  walls  were  relieved  at  doors  and 
windows  with  chintz  hangings  in  rose  designs,  and 
the  same  cheerful  material  covered  the  seat  at  the 
casement,  which  was  all  abloom  with  potted  ge- 
raniums. It  was  unmistakably  the  boudoir  of 
a  dainty  woman.  Under  an  ancient  highboy  a 
regiment  of  slippers  shyly  stood  at  parade  rest; 
a  lace  petticoat  hung  from  the  support  of  a  tall 
pier  glass;  an  Indian  scarf  lay  across  the  back  of 
an  easy  chair;  and  a  few  books,  a  pair  of  gloves  and 
a  basket  of  drawn-work  covered  a  small  teak  wood 
•table. 

"You  are  charmingly  lodged,  I  must  say,"  she 
remarked;  "and  I  do  not  wonder  that  you  like  it 
here  much  better  than  you  did  at  the  villa." 

"The  only  thing  I  miss,"  admitted  Antoinette 
with  a  sigh,  "is  the  garden  and  the  sunsets."  She 

244 


VIOLET  DOMINOES 

looked  suspiciously  tearful  as  she  spoke  and  her 
companion  remembered  hearing  that  the  straits 
into  which  old  Froebel  had  fallen,  demanded  the 
change  in  their  residence.  She  knew,  too,  that 
Antoinette  possessed  immense  pride,  and  guessed 
that  she  was  far  less  happy  than  she  assumed  to 
be.  To  Ottilie,  her  companion's  attitude  of  con- 
tentment seemed  nothing  short  of  heroic,  and  she 
loved  her  confidante  all  the  more  on  that  account. 

Not  daring  to  show  her  sympathy,  she  adroitly 
skipped  to  another  topic.  "I  was  going  to  tell  you 
about  Jallot.  Have  you  seen  The  Judgment?'5 

"Yes,"  was  the  reply,  "My  father  took  me  to 
see  it  on  the  opening  night." 

"Isn't  it  wonderful?" 

Antoinette  demurred.  She  quite  agreed  with 
Ottilie,  but  felt  diffident  about  displaying  her  en- 
thusiasm. "It  was  interesting,"  she  finally  ad- 
mitted. 

The  Creole  girl  made  a  rebellious  gesture.  "In- 
teresting, indeed !  If  that  is  the  best  you  can  say 
of  it,  I'm  inclined  to  think  you  have  no  taste  in 
such  matters.  Father  says  it  is  the  work  of  a 
genius,  and  he  knows.  What  is  more,  Jallot  is  to 
abandon  his  atelier  and  devote  the  rest  of  his  life 
to  being  a  genius.  There's  news  for  you,  Made- 
moiselle! You  will  not  dare  call  him  a  barber 
again;  and  I  fancy  that  you  will  be  very  glad  to 
say  that  you  know  him.  I  am!" 

245 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

The  animated  gossip  paused  and  folding  her 
arms  with  an  air  of  self-satisfaction,  stared  saucily 
at  Antoinette,  whose  face  reflected  little  of  the 
intense  interest  which  this  intelligence  aroused. 
"I  am  very  glad  to  hear  of  Monsieur  Jallot's  good 
fortune,"  she  said  enigmatically. 

Ottilie  was  disappointed.  "That  is  not  like 
you  at  all,  Antoinette,"  she  complained.  "Some- 
times I  feel  that  I  do  not  know  you.  It  is  your 
eyes.  I  look  into  them  and  see — nothing.  I 
think  you  must  have  little  shutters  back  there 
somewhere  which  you  close  up  now  and  then  to 
keep  folks  from  peeping  into  your  heart." 

Antoinette  took  her  accuser's  hand.  "Perhaps 
you  are  right,  cherie;  but  sometimes  it  is  very  hard 
to  tell  you  what  I  think.  I  really  do  not  mean  to 
be  so  horrid,  and  you  must  believe  that  I  love 
you." 

"Now,  now,  I  can  see !"  cried  the  girl.  "Oh, 
Antoinette,  if  you  knew  how  much  more  adorable 
you  are  when  you  look  like  that,  you  would  always 
keep  the  shutters  of  your  eyes  wide  open." 

"If  I  do  not,  it  is  only  for  the  reason  that  I  can- 
not help  myself.  Please  forgive  me,  dearest,  and 
go  on  with  your  sweet  gossiping." 

This  at  once  restored  Ottilie's  spirits.  She 
picked  up  the  piece  of  silk,  which  had  fallen  to 
the  floor,  and  resumed  her  sewing.  "Monsieur 
Jallot  has  been  invited  to  the  ball.  I  had  the  news 
from  father  this  morning." 

246 


VIOLET  DOMINOES 

"Oh!"  gasped  Antoinette  in  surprise.  Then, 
shaking  her  head  and  smiling,  she  added :  "They 
will  spoil  him." 

"Delightful!  I  am  spoilt  myself,  and  I  adore 
it !  How  happy  Monsieur  Jallot  must  be !" 

"He  would  be  much  happier  if  they  left  him  to 
his  work.  He  has  something  better  to  do  than 
to  g.o  philandering  to  balls.  I  am  inclined  not  to 
go  myself."  Antoinette  was  clearly  displeased. 
She  was  ambitious  for  Jallot  and  disliked  the  idea 
of  his  association  with  the  idle  society  of  a  frivolous 
city. 

Ottilie  looked  at  her  in  dismay.  "You  don't 
mean  that  you  are  angry  with  me — that  we  shall 
not  go  to  the  Tivoli  in  twin  dominoes?  Oh,  An- 
toinette!" Her  appeal  was  irresistible. 

The  reply  was  penitent  enough  to  set  her  mind 
at  rest.  "No,  no,  no,  ma  cherie!  Did  I  seem 
angry?  Oh,  forgive  me!  We  shall  go  just  as  we 
planned;  and  I  am  sure  we  shall  hold  our  own  with 
the  prettiest!" 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

MASQUES,    MOONLIGHT    AND    MALIGNITY 

On  that  lovely  June  night,  which  fell  to  the  lot 
of  the  bal  masque,  the  rays  of  the  Tivoli's  lanterns 
gleamed  far  down  the  Bayou  Road  and  across  the 
brackish  waters  of  Lake  Pontchartrain. 

"Moreau  has  outdone  himself,"  mused  Jallot,  as 
he  drew  near  the  place  and  saw  the  foliage  tinselled 
with  light,  as  though  swarming  with  glow-worms, 
and  the  mansion  festooned  with  vari-colored  lamps 
— all  casting  a  mysterious  glimmer  over  the  motley 
garbed  company  now  thronging  terrace  and  ve- 
randas; while  the  ball  room's  great  French  win- 
dows, thrown  wide  open  to  the  fragrant  air,  re- 
vealed a  picture  of  enchantment,  as  potentate  and 
shepherdess,  Indian-maid  and  Chinese  mandarin, 
buccaneer  and  casket-girl,  Pierrette  and  dragoon, 
voyageur  and  empress  moved  in  a  revel  of  color 
through  the  stately  measures  of  a  minuet. 

Jallot  made  his  way  to  a  group  of  masquers  at 
a  window  and  watched  the  dance,  scrutinizing 
every  couple  with  the  hope  of  discovering  An- 
toinette. He  believed  that  he  would  know  her 
step  among  a  hundred,  and  when  the  minuet  was 

248 


MOONLIGHT  AND  MALIGNITY 

finished  he  was  satisfied  that  she  had  not  appeared 
on  the  floor.  He  stepped  back  from  the  window 
with  the  idea  of  taking  a  turn  upon  the  veranda, 
when  he  felt  a  tug  at  his  sword  and  heard  the 
familiar  voice  of  Villebois.  He  was  saying,  "Par- 
don me,  your  majesty,  but  you  are  sticking  me  in 
the  ribs." 

"I  apologize,  Monsieur  Esquimo,"  returned  Jal- 
lot  in  a  bass  tone,  laughing  at  the  furry  costume 
in  which  the  Creole  cut  a  ridiculous  figure.  "Can 
you  tell  me  if  Delicado  is  here  to-night?"  he  sup- 
plemented in  a  hoarse  whisper. 

"Who  the  devil  are  you?"  exclaimed  Villebois. 

'His  Grace,  de  Grammont,"  replied  Jallot,  who 
wore  a  court  dress  of  mauve,  fashioned  after  the 
style  of  Charles  II. 

"Only  a  duke?"  jested  the  Creole,  lifting  his 
mask  a  little  to  mop  his  brow.  "By  your  grand 
air  I  thought  you  at  least  a  king." 

"The  fact  is,  my  perspiring  friend,  I  am  a  bar- 
ber." This,  to  the  other's  ear  in  confidence. 

"Jallot!"  chuckled  Villebois.  "What  a  find! 
Let  us  seek  adventure  in  company;  only,  I  pray 
you,  do  not  inveigle  me  into  a  dance,  unless  you 
can  find  me  an  iceberg  for  a  partner." 
r  They  linked  arms  and  started  around  the 
veranda,  which  was  lively  with  promenaders  who 
stopped  to  look  after  the  strangely  contrasted  pair 
and  make  jests  at  their  expense.  This  was  pre- 
cisely what  Villebois  enjoyed — attracting  attention 

249 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

and  having  the  opportunity  to  display  his  satirical 
wit  in  silencing  the  gibers.  While  Jallot  took  his 
part  in  the  raillery,  he  kept  watch  for  some  sign 
of  Antoinette. 

"There's  one  who  looks  cool  enough  to  partner 
you,"  joked  the  barber,  calling  his  companion's  at- 
tention to  a  tall  and  imperious  woman,  who  wore 
the  white  robes  of  Napoleon's  Josephine. 

"I  commend  your  observation,  Grammont. 
That's  Mademoiselle  DeVic.  I  know  the  nape  of 
her  patrician  neck.  And  that  gentleman,  in  the 
purple  robe  of  Richelieu,  buzzing  so  persistently 
to  her  ear-rings,  is  your  friend  Gazonac.  Let  us 
draw  near  that  we  may  listen  to  the  dulcet  strains 
of  his  voice  as  he  woos  my  lady." 

"Is  he  really  serious  in  his  attentions?"  inquired 
Jallot. 

"He  is  mad  about  her!"  Villebois  rejoined, 
leading  his  companion  close  to  the  couple. 

Gazonac  was  speaking.  This  is  what  they  heard. 
"If  you  knew,  you  would  not  be  the  least  bit 
jealous!" 

"Jealous!"  balked  the  lady.  "Do  not  flatter 
yourself." 

"I  meant  to  say,"  he  countered,  evidently  seeing 
his  mistake;  "that  you  would  not  doubt  my  scorn 
for  her  if  you  were  acquainted  with  the  facts." 

"What  are  they,  then?"  she  insisted,  as  though 
it  were  a  repeated  interruption. 

"I  am  not  free  to  tell  you." 

250 


MOONLIGHT  AND  MALIGNITY 

"Since  you  do  not  trust  me,  you  need  not  ad- 
dress me."  Mademoiselle  DeVic  turned  her  back 
upon  Gazonac  and  entered  the  ball  room.  He 
pondered  for  a  moment  in  vexation,  then  hurried 
after  her. 

"What  do  you  make  of  that?"  asked  Jallot,  ques- 
tioning Villebois. 

"He  was  not  ready  enough  with  a  lie,"  laughed 
the  Creole.  "Now  he  has  thought  of  one,  which  I 
hope  will  excuse  the  love  affair  she  seems  to  have 
uncovered." 

This  explanation  did  not  satisfy  the  barber.  He 
feared  that  Antoinette  might  be  the  woman  alluded 
to  in  the  conversation  he  had  overheard;  and  this 
thought  made  him  more  eager  than  ever  to  find 
the  ward  of  old  Froebel.  Just  then,  turning  a 
corner  of  the  veranda,  they  met  a  muscular  woods- 
man, garbed  from  head  to  foot  in  deerskin,  with 
a  maid  in  a  violet  domino  swinging  on  his  arm. 

Jallot  stopped  them  with  a  salutation,  saying  to 
the  frontiersman,  "I  entreat  you,  Monsieur,  to 
exchange  your  domino  for  my  Esquimo.  He  is 
agreeable  company,  but  does  not  dance  and  I  hear 
the  first  bars  of  a  gavotte." 

"The  exchange  is  made,"  exclaimed  the  girl 
in  violet,  dropping  her  escort's  arm  and  accepting 
Jallot's.  "Thank  you,  Monsieur  Forester,  for 
your  company,  and  au  revoir — only  au  revoir!" 

"Prove  that  you  are  in  earnest,  by  meeting  me 

251 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

here  within  a  half  hour  and  I  shall  forgive  your 
desertion,"  said  the  woodsman. 

"It  is  a  rendezvous,"  she  returned. 

"But  what  is  to  become  of  me?"  whined  Ville- 
bois. 

"That's  easily  told,"  declared  Jallot,  seizing  him 
by  the  wrist  and  feigning  to  study  his  palm;  "you 
are  to  be  bored  for  the  next  twenty-five  minutes 
by  Monsieur  Osbourne,  to  whom  I  have  the  honor 
of  presenting  you." 

Before  the  American  had  recovered  from  the 
surprise  of  being  thus  identified,  the  barber  and 
his  partner  were  dancing  in  the  ball  room. 

"I  must  tell  you,"  he  was  saying,  "that  I  am 
highly  honored  by  your  ready  acceptance  of  the 
exchange,  Mademoiselle." 

"I  should  not  have  been  so  daring  had  I  not 
known  you  when  you  bowed,  Monsieur  Jallot." 

"What  a  clever  little  woman  you  are,  Mademoi- 
selle Trudeau!" 

"I  am  not  Mademoiselle  Trudeau,"  she  fabri- 
cated. "I  am — no!  you  must  guess!" 

Jallot  laughed.  "I  would  not  venture  to  con- 
tradict you,  or  to  hazard  another  guess,  so  I  shall 
call  you  The  Lady  with  Her  Heart  on  Her 
Sleeve'." 

"You  have  christened  me  and  danced  with  me, 
which  is  quite  enough  for  one  night.  Now  take 
me  back  to  my  big  forester." 

252 


MOONLIGHT  AND  MALIGNITY 

"Only  upon  one  consideration — that  you  tell 
me  how  Mademoiselle  Froebel  is  dressed." 

"Very  becomingly!" 

That  was  all  that  she  would  admit,  so  Jallot,  who 
had  accosted  her  with  the  sole  object  of  learning 
something  of  Antoinette,  gladly  returned  her  to 
the  corner  of  the  veranda  to  keep  tryst  with 
Osbourne. 

"Your  gallant  is  not  at  his  post,"  said  the 
quasi-duke.  "You  will  have  to  endure  my  com- 
pany until  he  returns." 

"No,  no!  You  must  not,"  she  admonished. 
"Go  seek  another  partner.  I  am  content." 
Noting  his  hesitation  she  insisted  that  if  he  stayed 
she  would  never  dance  with  him  again.  Thus  ad- 
vised, he  bowed  and  went  in  quest  of  Mademoi- 
selle. He  passed  through  the  ball  room,  looking 
from  right  to  left,  and  finally  stepped  out  upon  an- 
other part  of  the  veranda.  There  he  saw  Osbourne 
talking  with  a  girl  in  a  violet  domino.  Looking 
closer,  he  made  out  a  heart  embroidered  on  her 
sleeve.  "Most  extraordinary!"  he  mused.  "She 
must  have  flown  here."  To  satisfy  himself  that 
he  could  not  be  mistaken,  Jallot  turned  back  to 
where  he  had  left  Ottilie.  There  she  stood,  sur- 
rounded by  a  group  of  gallants.  "It  seems  there 
are  two  violet  dominoes  with  hearts  upon  their 
sleeves.  If,  as  I  am  certain,  one  is  Mademoiselle 
Trudeau,  then  Osbourne  is  doubtless  being  duped 
by  the  other,  who  may  possibly  be  the  lady  I  am 

253 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

seeking.  In  which  case  I  might  do  worse  than 
to  feign  that  I  believe  her  to  be  Mademoiselle  Tru- 
deau." 

Jallot  hurried  then  to  the  place  where  he  had 
seen  Osbourne  and  the  domino,  only  to  miss  them; 
but  presently  he  discovered  the  couple  in  the  ball 
room,  dancing  the  minuet.  As  he  watched  them 
he  was  convinced  that  the  American's  partner  was 
Antoinette.  At  the  conclusion  of  the  dance,  he 
spoke  to  her. 

"Mademoiselle  Trudeau,"  he  began;  "I  trust 
that  you  will  honor  me  with  your  arm." 

She  bowed,  in  fairly  good  imitation  of  Ottilie's 
best  manner,  while  Osbourne  glared  at  Jallot 
through  his  mask,  remarking:  "I  would  suggest 
that  you  find  a  partner  for  yourself,  instead  of 
filching  mine." 

"The  matter  of  choice  should  be  left  entirely  to 
Mademoiselle,"  rejoined  the  other  with  amiability. 

In  answer,  the  domino  slipped  her  gloved  hand 
through  the  arm  of  the  man  in  mauve,  and  left  the 
frontiersman  to  his  own  devices.  He  wheeled 
about,  in  a  temper,  and  stalked  out  on  the  terrace, 
where  he  was  amazed  to  encounter  Ottilie.  She 
abandoned  a  numerous  escort,  and,  much  to  the 
sheriff's  bewilderment,  demanded  to  know  why  he 
had  not  kept  his  rendezvous  with  her. 

"Why  do  you  ask  that,"  he  complained,  "when 
you  deserted  me  but  a  few  moments  ago?" 

She  laughed  gaily.      "What  a  delicious  simple- 

254 


MOONLIGHT  AND  MALIGNITY 

ton  you  are!  But  I  forgive  you!  Come,  let  us 
look  at  the  lake."  She  led  him  to  the  balustrade. 

"I  confess  I  am  completely  mystified  by  your 
conduct,  Mademoiselle  Trudeau;  but  so  long  as 
your  humor  is  gay,  I  may  presume  that  you  are 
not  displeased  with  me?"  His  tone  was  interro- 
gatory. "At  least  you  are  smiling!" 

"Do  not  be  too  sure  about  my  feelings,  Mon- 
sieur. We  smile  and  hate  here  at  the  same  time. 
Teeth  do  not  wear  mourning." 

"I  can  see,  under  the  edge  of  your  mask,  that 
you  are  smiling  at  me  now.  Does  that  mean — ?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "It  might — but — it 
doesn't !" 

He  had  never  known  anyone  so  elusive  as 
Ottilie  was  that  night.  "Then  I  may  take  it  to 
signify — what  ?" 

"That  I  am  happy." 

They  stood  together  for  a  while  in  sdlence, 
looking  across  the  lake,  which  lay  asleep  under  the 
moon's  silvery  counterpane;  and  frequently,  when 
a  light  squall  riffed  it,  the  water  seemed  to  stir  as 
in  a  dream. 

"May  I  come  directly  to  the  point?"  he  asked, 
presently. 

"That  is  not  our  way  in  New  Orleans !" 

"So  I  have  observed.  Must  I  learn  your  fash- 
ions?" 

The  girl  hesitated,  wondering  how  far  she  should 
lead  him.  She  knew  very  well  what  he  meant,  and 

255 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

the  knowledge  that  he  cared  a  great  deal  for  her 
made  her  happy  that  night;  but  she  thought  best 
to  put  on  a  coquettish  disposition  for  the  purpose 
of  veiling  her  true  sentiments. 

"Did  you  hear  my  question,  Mademoiselle?" 
*'Yes,  Monsieur.     I  was  deliberating,  and  I  have 
decided  that  I  prefer  you  to  remain  a  barbarian." 
"But  I  have  no  mind  to  remain  a  bachelor." 
"What  a  stupid  the  dear  thing  is,"  she  thought. 
"That    remark    came    at    least    ten    minutes    too 
soon.      I  shall  punish  him."      She  turned  away 
from  the  balustrade  and  said  aloud :   "I  fancy  that 
your  fate  should  be  left  to  the  decision  of  some 
amiable  woman's  mind,  rather  than  to  your  own." 
Osbourne    felt    repulsed,    and    became    silent. 
When  they  reached  the  mansion  he  permitted  a 
Pierrot  to  whisk  Ottilie  away  without  a  word  of 
protest;  and  a  few  minutes  later,    sauntering  back 
across  the  terrace,  in  a  rather  despondent  mood, 
he  was  dumbfounded  to  discover  a  violet  domino 
leaning   over   the  balustrade  by   the   side   of  the 
odious  person,  who  called  himself  His  Grace,  de 
Grammont.     He  paused  at  this  sight  and,  eaves- 
dropping, heard  the  man  say: 

"Mademoiselle  Trudeau,  did  you  ever  see  such 
a  wonderful  night ! .  .  .  .  If  ever  a  woman  cared  for 
me,  I  wish  I  might  talk  to  her  of  love  on  a  night 
like  this.  .  .  .beneath  the  magnolias.  .  .  .in  the  soft 
air....  heavy  with  perfume ....  the  moonlight 
falling  upon  her  face  upturned  to  me." 

256 


MOONLIGHT  AND  MALIGNITY 

Osbourne  tiptoed  away  and  went  back  to  the 
town  perturbed  and  disconsolate.  Ignorant  of 
his  friend's  unhappy  error,  Jallot  was  enjoying 
what  he  would  likely  have  described  as  "a  piquant 
situation."  Both  he  and  Antoinette  well  knew 
that  each  was  aware  of  the  other's  identity,  yet 
chose  to  play  the  comedy  out  in  the  roles  of  the 
Creole  girl  and  His  Grace,  de  Grammont.  She 
had  recognized  the  barber  by  his  hands,  but  never 
did  she  call  him  by  any  name  save  the  one  he  had 
assumed  for  the  night,  and  he  addressed  her  only 
as  Mademoiselle  Trudeau. 

From  the  fragile  rampart  of  this  whimsy,  An- 
toinette dared  an  exchange  of  sentiments  with  the 
man  who  so  adroitly  besieged  her  affections;  for 
she  felt  safe  to  utter,  in  the  character  of  Ottilie, 
many  a  word  which  she  would  not  have  had  the 
temerity  to  speak  in  her  proper  person.  The  girl 
was  rejoiced  that  she  could  in  this  wise  make 
amends  for  the  rebuff  she  had  administered  to  Jal- 
lot in  the  office  of  "Le  Moniteur." 

"Now,  if  you  were  only  a  poet,"  she  was  saying, 
"you  might  make  this  night  live  forever  to  us  by 
preserving  it  in  a  sonnet." 

"And  if  I  were  a  poet,  I  am  sure  I  should  try 
something  more  ambitious  than  a  sonnet.  The 
subject  demands  the  deeper  organ  tone  of  majestic 
blank  verse." 

"Perhaps  your  Grace  is  a  poet,    and  the  muse 

257 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

would  labor  were  she  not  distracted  by  my  chatter. 
I  will  go,"  she  teased,  starting  from  him. 

He  stopped  her  with  a  gesture.  "You  are  my 
muse,"  he  declared.  "Pray  stay  to  be  wooed." 

"How  troublesome  to  be  obliged  to  re-woo  your 
muse  whenever  you  wish  to  compose  a  verse !" 
She  laughed  a  little  and  added:  "Don't  you  find 
it  so?" 

"Yes,  Mademoiselle,"  he  admitted,  "it  gives  me 
such  a  hopeless  sense  of  insecurity.  Fancy  the 
necessity  of  courting  your  wife  over  and  over 
again  to  keep  her  from  flying  out  of  the  window." 

"Delightful ! — for  the  wife,"  mocked  Antoinette, 
as  she  caught  a  falling  magnolia  petal,  and  pressed 
it  between  her  palms.  "If  I  were  the  husband  I 
should  put  bars  on  the  windows  and  bolts  on  the 
door." 

"That  wouldn't  do,  Mademoiselle.  Love  jests 
at  gaolers." 

"You  are  mixing  your  figures  of  speech,  like  a 
true  poet,"  she  plagued.  "Or  do  you  take  your 
muse,  your  wife  and  your  love  to  be  one  and  the 
same?" 

Jallot  leaned  a  little  closer  to  Antoinette  as  he 
replied:  "I  have  wished  they  might  be;  but,  at 
the  very  moment  when  I  thought  my  hope  was 
taking  tangible  shape — when  it  seemed  to  become 
incarnate  in  a  woman — whiff! — she  went  out  of 
the  window.  Upon  my  soul,  Mademoiselle,  I  was 
never  so  dismayed — for  I  loved  that  woman." 

258 


MOONLIGHT  AND  MALIGNITY 

In  the  moonlight  Antoinette  saw  in  the  eyes  of 
the  masquer  a  look  which  brought  her  hands  to 
her  heart  with  a  protecting  action.  She  did  not 
fear  him,  but  herself,  for  his  voice,  the  message  of 
his  eyes,  and  the  night  worked  a  potent  spell  upon 
her. 

"It — it  is  too  bad,"  she  stammered,  and  at- 
tempted a  laugh,  "that  you  frightened  your — your 
muse." 

"Oh,  if  I  only  frightened  her,  she  might  return 
• — do  you  think?"  He  flung  out  his  hand  to  her 
in  vivid  entreaty. 

She  remembered  then,  too  well,  what  she  had 
once  said  of  that  wonderful  hand;  and  its  power  of 
beseechment  was  even  greater  than  she  had  fancied 
it  ever  could  be.  It  seemed  to  cry  out  its  pas- 
sionate plea,  and  she  found  herself  drawn  toward 
the  speaker  hypnotically. 

"You  understand?"  Jallot  asked  in  a  whisper. 

His  voice  distracted  her  attention,  breaking  the 
spell.  Her  hand,  which  had  unconsciously  started 
toward  his,  dropped  on  the  balustrade.  Mastering 
herself,  she  replied,  "No  Monsieur!"  This  was 
in  such  a  gentle  tone,  that  the  barber  felt  no  hurt. 
In  truth  he  took  that  negative  rejoinder  as  a  mere 
expedient  to  draw  out  the  time  of  his  probation, 
to  stay  him  from  the  questioning  of  her  affection, 
which,  perhaps  at  that  mesmeric  hour  she  could 
not  justly  weigh  in  honor  to  herself  and  him. 

So  neither  spoke  for  a  moment,  while  the  magic 

259 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

night  drew  about  them  the  invisible  mantle  of  its 
poesy.  Under  its  sorceric  folds  their  thoughts 
were  transferred,  each  to  the  other,  without  the 
need  of  words.  Presently,  as  though  by  mutual 
agreement,  they  turned  toward  the  mansion — her 
arm  in  his — and  crossed  the  terrace  in  silence. 

At  the  veranda  a  matador  claimed  her  and 
Jallot  did  not  see  his  violet  domino  again  until  he 
found  himself  with  a  mermaid  for  a  partner,  danc- 
ing opposite  to  her  in  a  minuet. 

On  his  left  stood  Mademoiselle  De  Vic  and 
Gazonac  apparently  in  the  best  of  humors,  so  that 
the  barber  concluded  they  must  have  mended  their 
quarrel;  but  he  soon  forgot  them  in  the  fascination 
of  watching  Antoinette.  Once  she  touched  his 
hand  as  they  formed  a  canopy  under  which  pir- 
ouetted an  oriole  and  a  buccaneer.  She  seemed 
to  take  no  notice  of  him,  yet  he  was  sure  that  the 
pressure  of  her  fingers  in  that  brief  contact  could 
not  have  been  unintentional.  Jealously  he  sought 
to  discover  the  identity  of  her  gallant,  who  danced 
so  grotesquely  in  the  guise  of  Oliver  Cromwell; 
and  he  was  much  relieved  when  he  detected  old 
Froebel  beneath  the  Roundhead's  casque. 

Again  his  attention  was  attracted  to  Mademoi- 
selle De  Vic.  He  heard  her  say  to  Gazonac :  "Cer- 
tainly that  cannot  be  the  creature  in  the  violet 
domino." 

"No,  Mademoiselle,"  he  rejoined,  "that  is  Ottilie 
Trudeau." 

260 


MOONLIGHT  AND  MALIGNITY 

"It  would  be  like  the  wench — " 

Jallot  heard  no  more,  for  at  that  instant  a 
trumpet  call  sounded  through  the  ball  room,  the 
music  stopped  abruptly  and  the  cry,  "Unmask! 
unmask !  unmask !"  went  up  in  lively  cadences  from 
the  dancers. 

It  was  a  poignant  moment  for  many  a  belle, 
who  remembered  what  she  had  said  to  her  partner 
in  the  rashness  of  coquetry  bhind  a  mask,  and 
more  than  one  hesitated  to  strip  herself  of  that 
protecting  bit  of  silk  or  velvet;  but  she  had  no 
choice.  Her  cavalier  showed  no  quarter,  gaily  lay- 
ing hands  upon  his  lady's  mask,  all  eagerness  to 
see  the  fair  face  concealed  beneath  it.  There  were 
little  outcries  of  protest  and  much  laughter — one 
blushing,  another  showing  bravado — over  the  in- 
cident. 

With  unconcern  Antoinette  unveiled  her  feat- 
ures, yet  she  did  not  venture  to  look  at  Jallot, 
who  could  not  keep  his  eyes  from  her.  He  was 
thinking  how  adorable  she  appeared  as  she  leaned 
confidingly  upon  the  arm  of  the  old  German,  and 
turned  her  head  to  speak  to  Grandpre,  a  young 
Creole,  standing  at  her  side.  Suddenly  he  was 
startled  by  an  exclamation  from  Mademoiselle  De 
Vic.  He  could  not  distinguish  her  words,  be- 
cause the  music  struck  up  again  as  she  spoke,  but 
it  was  plain  that  she  was  exceedingly  angry. 

"Your  hand,"  besought  Grandpre,  offering  to 
resume  the  minuet  with  Mademoiselle  De  Vic. 

261 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

"Pardon  me,"  she  balked,  with  hauteur. 

"Mademoiselle  is  ill,"  hastily  put  in  Gazonac. 

"I  am  perfectly  well,  Monsieur,"  declared  the 
lady;  "but,"  waving  her  fan  toward  Antoinette, 
"I  will  not  dance  on  the  floor  with  a  yellow  girl!" 

A  momentary  hush  fell  upon  those  who  heard 
this  declaration.  Antoinette  stared  at  her  accuser 
in  speechless  wonderment,  while  Froebel,  showing 
dismay  in  his  face,  looked  appealingly  at  Jallot. 
The  barber,  having  no  proof  with  which  to  refute 
the  charge  against  the  woman  he  loved,  yet  frantic 
to  defend  her,  stood  dumb,  suffering  exquisite 
torture. 

Grandpre,  a  chivalrous  youth,  was  the  first  to 
speak.  "Mademoiselle  De  Vic,"  he  exclaimed; 
"that  is  a  terrible  imputation !  I  trust  you  will  be 
so  kind  as  to  retract  it!  You  must  be  mistaken." 

"It  is  true,"  she  retorted  with  vehemence.  "I 
have  it  upon  the  word  of  Monsieur  Gazonac." 

"Shame !"  cried  Jallot's  partner.  "Are  there 
no  men  here  to  give  him  the  lie?" 

"They  dare  not,"  Gazonac  defied.  "Froebel 
himself  knows  that  the  woman  is  an  octoroon." 

His  words  drove  the  blood  in  a  torrent  to  the 
heart  of  Antoinette;  her  face  became  ivory-white, 
her  eyes  dilated  with  terror.  She  caught  her 
foster-father's  hand  in  a  frenzy  and  cried:  "My 
father! — speak!  you  know  it  is  not  true!  It  is 
some  monstrous  jest!  I  am  not  an  octoroon! 
No!  no!" 

262 


MOONLIGHT  AND  MALIGNITY 

"We — we  must  go,"  stammered  the  old  man, 
huskily,  and  turned  away  trembling  a  little  in 
every  limb. 

Reading  confirmation  of  the  hideous  charge  in 
Froebel's  crushed  demeanor,  the  company  shrank 
from  Antoinette  as  though  she  were  a  leper;  and 
the  girl,  understanding,  made  a  piteous  attempt  to 
be  brave  and  even  smiled  as  she  shuddered,  seeing 
Jallot  bow  to  her. 

"Mademoiselle,  pray  honor  me,"  said  he,  offer- 
ing Antoinette  his  arm.  She  accepted  it,  scarcely 
knowing  what  she  did;  and  as  they  made  to  go, 
the  barber  called  over  his  shoulder  to  Gazonac: 
"Monsieur,  I  hope  to  have  the  pleasure  of  killing 
you." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

NIGHT  AND  THE   SHARD   IN  A  WOMAN'S   SOUL 

Antoinette,  numb  in  brain  and  body,  under- 
stood little  of  what  Jallot  or  Froebel  said  to  her 
in  the  way  of  consolation,  as  they  journeyed  to 
town  from  the  Tivoli  ball;  and  even  when  she  was 
left  alone  in  her  boudoir  that  night  she  did  not  at 
once  realize  the  full  significance  of  the  terrible 
stigma  cast  upon  her.  The  cruel  denunciation  at 
Moreau's  seemed  unreal.  She  could  not  believe 
at  first  that  she  had  suffered  that  great  humility. 
They  had  called  her  an  octoroon,  and  no  one,  not 
even  her  father,  was  able  to  deny  the  indictment. 
She  tried  to  consider  what  it  meant;  but  it  seemed 
impossible  for  her  to  think.  She  could  not  fix 
her  mind  steadfastly  upon  the  situation.  Her 
thoughts  followed  her  eyes,  not  her  will.  Small 
and  unobtrusive  things,  which  she  had  never  even 
seen  before,  now  loomed  up  in  extraordinary  de- 
tail. She  noted  for  the  first  time  that  every  other 
rose  in  the  design  of  her  curtains  was  a  different 
shape;  that  one  leg  of  her  dressing  table  was  not 
perfectly  straight;  that  a  pair  of  slippe'rs  under  the 
high-boy  stood  pigeon-toed;  that  there  was  a 

264 


THE  SHARD  IN  A  WOMAN'S  SOUL 

crack  in  the  plastering  over  the  door.  Innumerable 
trifles  attracted  her  attention  and  mixed  them- 
selves up  with  the  idea  upon  which  she  was  trying 
to  focus  her  mind.  One  by  one  these  insignificant 
things  faded  from  her  mental  vision,  and  the  power 
of  thought  began  to  return  to  her.  Then,  as  she 
pondered,  all  her  fancy  gathered  about  the  single 
thought,  "I  am  an  octoroon!"  As  the  horror  of 
that  belief  worked  its  way  into  her  soul,  she  made 
a  great  moan  and  flung  out  her  arms  in  agony, 
calling  upon  her  God  to  take  her  life. 

The  sound  of  the  watch,  passing  in  the  street 
below,  frightened  her.  Never  had  she  felt  so 
utterly  alone,  abandoned,  desperate  and  miserable. 
She  huddled  herself  in  a  corner  of  the  window  seat, 
and  wished  that  in  the  morning  she  might  be  found 
there  dead.  Perhaps  then  they  would  have  some 
pity  for  the  poor  octoroon ! 

Would  the  world  go  on  just  the  same  without 
her?  What  would  become  of  her  violet  domino? 
Would  they  bury  her  in  that  or  in  the  old  white 
silk?  She  remembered  how  happy  she  had  been 
when  she  last  wore  that  gown.  It  was  at  the 
Theatre  Saint  Pierre.  Yes,  that  was  a  wonderful 
night  for  Jallot!  .  .  .  Jallot!  What  emotions  his 
name  conjured!  He  had  loved  her.  She  was  sure  of 
that;  but  now — she  who  had  been  Mademoiselle 
of  the  Magnolias,  was  nothing  but  a  yellow  girl; 
and  he,  who  had  been  nothing  but  a  barber,  was 
Monsieur  Magnifique — ah,  he  must  look  down 

265 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

upon  her  with  horrid  condescension.  No!  She 
could  not  suffer  that.  Yet,  she  might  have  loved 
him,  too! 

Her  thoughts  became  chaotic  again  and  her 
only  wish  was  for  death.  In  self-pity  she  wept, 
but  out  of  that  storm  of  misery  came  a  beneficent 
calm.  Grief  gave  place  to  hope  when,  from  the 
cloister  of  her  memory,  re-echoed  the  parting 
words  of  Jallot:  "Mademoiselle,  I  believe  you  to 
be  as  white  as  I  am;  and  I  pledge  myself  to  prove 
you  so  before  the  world." 

Since  he  believed,  what  mattered  it  if  the  whole 
world  thought  differently!  And  she  had  such 
faith  in  his  power  to  accomplish  all  that  he  set  out 
to  do,  that  she  smiled  a  little  and  chided  herself 
for  being  despondent. 

She  arose  and  looked  into  the  mirror.  "Though 
you  are  pale,"  said  she  to  her  image,  "you  are  not 
changed;  and  if  he  loved  you  yesterday,  why  not 
to-morrow? — even  though  you  be  a  yellow  girl. 
But  you  are  not  that!"  she  cried,  staring  at  her 
reflection.  A  sudden  thought  prompted  her  to 
examine  her  nails,  which  were  pink-tinted,  like 
the  delicate  coloring  of  a  sea  shell.  "There  is 
nothing  there — not  a  shadow  of  taint.  Why  have 
they  called  me  an  octoroon?"  At  this  demand, 
Froebel's  explanation  came  back  to  her.  He  had 
found  her  a  little  slave  girl  and  had  adopted  her, 
not  knowing  who  or  what  her  parents  were,  satis- 
fied that  her  blood  was  clean.  This  half-truth 

266 


THE  SHARD  IN  A  WOMAN'S  SOUL 

was  Jallot's  invention,  for  the  barber  meant  to 
spare  her  the  ignominious  knowledge  that  he  had 
bought  her. 

Antoinette's  mind  clung  fast  in  new  confidence 
to  the  assurances  of  the  two  men,  who  had  proved 
their  devotion  to  her;  and  she  longed  for  the  arms 
of  one  that,  in  her  weariness,  she  might  rest 
secure,  believing  in  his  power  to  keep  off  those 
terrors  with  which  the  long  night  was  bound  to 
enshroud  her  dreams.  Troubledi  indeed,  was  the 
sleep  that  finally  cradled  her;  and  when  the  lag- 
gard dawn  showed  its  wan  face  at  her  window,  she 
woke  with  a  start,  as  though  someone  had  knocked 
rudely  at  the  portal  of  her  soul.  All  that  she  had 
suffered — from  the  moment  of  Mademoiselle  De 
Vic's  accusation  to  the  vague  period  when  the 
kindly  night  had  dimmed  her  thought  with  its 
lethargy — became  visualized  to  her,  passing  be- 
fore her  in  spectral  panorama.  She  reviewed  it 
as  though  she  were  not  the  chief  actor  in  those 
piteous  scenes.  They  seemed  far  apart  from  her — 
the  episodes  of  years  long  past — the  miseries  of 
another  self.  Only  when  her  eyes  fell  upon  the 
violet  domino,  where  it  lay  among  those  dainty, 
intimate  things,  which  she  had  donned  so  gaily 
but  a  few  hours  ago,  did  she  realize  that  it  was  she, 
Antoinette,  who  had  endured  the  agony  which  was 
of  yester-night. 

What  was  to  become  of  her  now?  Her  father 
had  said  that  the  disclosure,  true  or  untrue,  could 

267 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

in  no  wise  change  their  dear  relations;  and  Jallot, 
too,  had  promised  fealty.  Were  they,  as  she  had 
thought,  all  the  world?  What  of  those  friends, 
like  Ottilie?  Must  she  lose  them?  Dared  she 
go  into  the  street?  The  whole  city  of  New 
Orleans  must  surely  know  of  her  sinister  indict- 
ment. She  would  be  pointed  at  with  scorn  and 
made  the  butt  of  hideous  jest.  These  thoughts 
came  back  to  her  again  and  again  with  ever  in- 
creasing torture,  until  out  of  her  travail  came  a 
project  to  escape  the  horror  of  her  state  by  imme- 
diate return  to  France.  She  resolved  to  sail  by 
the  first  ship.  She  had  friends  there  and,  at  the 
worst,  she  could  seek  the  shelter  of  a  convent. 

Antoinette  disclosed  this  plan  to  her  foster-fa- 
ther that  morning  and  he  tacitly  agreed  that  no 
better  method  of  relieving  her  distress  could  be 
devised;  but  counselled  that  she  make  no  prepara- 
tion for  departure  until  he  had  consulted  with  Jal- 
lot, whom  he  secretly  hoped  would  find  the  means 
to  mend  their  great  unhappiness. 

Froebel  had  scarcely  gone  when  Ottilie,  braving 
parental  command,  came  seeking  Antoinette,  who, 
at  the  sight  of  the  Creole  girl,  lost  all  her  fortitude 
and  with  a  sob  flung  herself  into  those  arms  held 
out  to  her  so  sympathetically.  Long  they  sat  to- 
gether, mingling  their  tears.  They  had  no  need 
of  words.  The  sorrow  of  one  was  the  grief  of  the 
other,  and  with  this  understanding,  a  sense  of 

268 


THE  SHARD  IN  A  WOMAN'S  SOUL 

peace  came  over  Antoinette.  Her  troubled  heart 
ceased  its  feverish  flutterings  and  her  weary  head 
lay  still  upon  the  mothering  shoulder  of  her  con- 
fidante. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE  HEART  OP  THE  YELLOW  KITTEN 

To  Jallot's  attentive  ears  old  Froebel  confided 
how  grievously  Antoinette  was  stricken  with  ig- 
nominy and  how  she  was  determined  to  shun  any 
further  humility  by  voyaging  to  France. 

"That  must  only  be  her  last  resort,"  insisted 
the  barber.  "Give  me  time  and  I  am  convinced 
that  I  shall  be  able  to  prove  her  free  from  any  taint 
of  blood.  At  least  I  shall  learn  the  truth  of  her 
parentage.  Bid  her  take  heart,  assure  her  of  our 
faith  that  she  is  white  and  entreat  her  to  have  a 
little  patience.  Leave  all  the  rest  to  me." 

Thus  encouraged  the  old  German  imparted  to 
Antoinette  their  hopes  for  reinstating  her  caste 
before  the  world,  and  she  resigned  herself  to  wait 
a  week  or  so,  only  half-believing  in  Jallot's  power 
to  remove  the  hideous  stain  from  her  escutcheon. 
A  little  later,  reminded  of  his  success  in  so  many 
other  undertakings,  she  grew  more  sanguine  about 
the  outcome  of  his  efforts  in  her  behalf.  What- 
ever he  touched  seemed  to  prosper  no  matter  how 
great  were  the  odds  against  him.  She  thought  of 
how  he  had  wrested  himself  from  his  own  mean 

270 


THE  YELLOW  KITTEN 

state;  and  now  Froebel  brought  the  news  of  the 
safe  arrival  of  "The  Olympe"  from  Pensacola,  giv- 
ing an  earnest  of  still  better  fortune  to  come. 

In  the  meantime  the  barber  anxiously  awaited 
Delicado's  return.  On  the  evening  of  July  third 
he  sent  Poupet  to  the  Spaniard's  lodging  with  a 
note  requesting  an  appointment.  The  answer 
came  back  that  Delicado  was  at  home,  but  much 
fatigued,  and  he  therefore  begged  to  be  excused 
until  the  following  night,  when  he  would  be  glad 
to  receive  Jallot  shortly  before  midnight,  the  hour 
set  for  a  final  conference  of  the  conspirators. 

Satisfied  with  this,  the  barber  despatched  word 
to  Osbourne  that  he  must  call  at  the  atelier  on  the 
next  afternoon  without  fail. 

When  the  American  came,  Jallot  told  him  of  the 
proposed  midnight  meeting  and  suggested  that, 
although  he  had  secured  no  proof  of  Casa  Calvo's 
association  with  the  enterprise,  they  should  wait 
no  longer,  but  arrest  the  conspirators  as  they  as- 
sembled at  Delicado's. 

"There  is  but  one  objection  to  my  plan,"  said 
the  barber.  "I  had  arranged  a  duel  with  Gazonac 
for  to-morrow  evening.  The  arrest  will  deprive 
me  of  the  satisfaction  of  killing  him." 

"I'm  sorry  for  that,"  admitted  Osbourne,  who 
had  heard  how  the  Frenchman  had  broken  faith 
by  denouncing  Antoinette  as  an  octoroon,  and  he 
had  so  far  set  aside  his  prejudice  to  duelling  as  to 
agree  that  Jallot  was  in  honor  bound  to  call  out 

271 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

Gazonac.  "Nevertheless,"  he  went  on,  "you  will 
be  satisfying  your  revenge  in  another  way." 

"But  it  is  not  a  matter  of  revenge,"  contended 
Jallot.  "It  is  a  case  of  administering  punishment. 
He  has  broken  faith  with  a  woman — for  I  was 
only  acting  as  Antoinette's  agent — which  is  worse 
than  breaking  the  law  of  man,  or  conspiring 
against  the  government.  Oh,  I  am  greatly  dis- 
appointed to  think  that  he  is  to  escape  me,  even 
to  become  a  prisoner  of  the  State." 

While  they  were  discussing  these  affairs  in  the 
cabinet,  Jerome  returned  from  the  monastery  and 
immediately  sought  Poupet.  The  boy  had  been 
impatiently  waiting  for  that  day — the  Fourth  of 
July — to  realize  his  longing  to  raise  the  American 
flag  over  the  atelier.  He  found  the  quadroon  in 
the  garden,  and  at  once  suggested  that  they 
should  set  about  the  patriotic  play,  which  his  ac- 
complice had  promised. 

Poupet  demurred.  He  had  some  little  hesi- 
tancy about  the  wisdom  of  hanging  the  bunting 
outside  the  court,  but  Jerome  overcame  his  objec- 
tions, and  finally,  with  the  assistance  of  a  ladder 
and  a  great  deal  of  foolery,  they  draped  the  ban- 
ner from  a  flower-box,  which  filled  a  niche  over 
the  street  entrance. 

Twilight  was  falling  when  they  completed  the 
ceremony.  As  Poupet  descended  from  the  lad- 
der, he  saw  Gazonac  coming  toward  them  through 
the  dusk. 

272 


"So  Jallot  is  celebrating  the  Fourth  of  July?" 
questioned  the  Frenchman,  accosting  the  quad- 
roon and  pointing  up  at  the  flag  with  a  jeer. 

"No,  Michie,"  replied  Poupet,  cautiously;  "we 
are!  Dad  is  Jerome's  flag.  We  goin'  t'  give 
'Sieur  Jallot  subbrize  when  he  see  dad  banner  de 
Unitee  Stade,  Amerikee,  yo'  bed.  Hein,  Jer- 
ome?" 

"I  think  it  will  surprise  him,"  laughed  Gazonac, 
significantly,  and  passed  on  down  the  street  in  a 
hurry. 

The  quadroon  looked  after  him  with  a  dubious 
feeling,  and  remarked  to  Jerome,  "Ah  guess  we 
beddah  say  notin'  'bout  dad  flag  to  Michie  Jal- 
lot— so  we  nod  spoil  de  subbrize.  Come  'long! 
Ah  ged  yo'  suppah  now." 

Jerome  objected.  He  wanted  to  dine  with  Jal- 
lot, but  the  quadroon  explained  that  the  master 
was  engaged,  and  satisfied  the  boy  by  promising 
that  he  could  see  "Papoute"  before  going  to  bed. 

The  child  had  not  finished  his  simple  meal  of 
gumbo  filet  when  Poupet  was  called  to  the  atelier 
door  by  the  beating  of  an  impudent  tattoo  upon 
the  knocker.  The  visitor  was  Tonton,  whom  he 
had  not  seen  for  a  week. 

"Ah  am  send  ad  yo'  house  wid  a  leddah  fo' 
Michie  Osbourne,"  she  announced.  "He  nod  ad 
his  lodgin's." 

"Dad  iz  de  des'  luck  possib',"  joyed  Poupet, 
making  an  elaborate  bow. 

273 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

"He  iz  ad  dis  plaze?" 

"Yez,  bud  yo'  no  kin  see  him  now." 

"Den  Ah  godd  to  leaf  de  leddah  fo'  him,"  she 
said. 

Poupet  made  a  grimace  of  protest.  "Yo'  nod 
goin'  leaf  de  mos'  precious  leddah  in  anybody's 
hands  but  de  gennleman's  to  whad  id  iz  address?" 

"Whad  Ah  goin'  do  den?"  inquired  Tonton. 

He  brought  a  chair  from  the  wall  and  offered  it 
to  her.  "Yo'  goin'  waid;  also  lizzen  to  me." 

"Dad  iz  a  fool—" 

"Yo'  tink  differend  iv  yo'  hear,"  he  interrupted, 
and,  with  a  gesture,  entreated  her  to  be  seated. 

Tonton  smiled  indulgently,  spreading  her  skirt 
over  the  chair.  "Ah  hear  a  lill'  bid.  Whad  yo' 
godd  fo'  to  say  now?" 

"Ah  goin'  to  marrie  yo' !"  Poupet  made  this 
declaration  with  his  hands  thrust  deeply  into  his 
hip  pockets,  and  his  whole  posture  one  of  pro- 
found determination. 

The  Yellow  Kitten  gave  a  sniff  of  intoler- 
ance. "Yo'  aind  godd  'nuff  money,  even  iv  Ah 
care  fo'  dad  ged  marrie." 

"Ah  guess  yo'  dond  hear  de  noos,"  he  laughed, 
triumphantly. 

Tonton  became  seriously  interested.  "Michie 
Jallot  give  yo'  dese  shob?" 

He  shook  his  head  and  burst  into  a  fit  of  merri- 
ment. 

"Yo'  crazzie!"  she  jeered  a  little  uncertainly. 

274 


THE  YELLOW   KITTEN 

"Yez,  ve'y  crazzie,"  he  roared.  "I  ged  de  lod- 
dery  prize!" 

"De  loddery?"  She  jumped  to  her  feet."  How 
much  dad  money?" 

Poupet  assumed  a  grand  and  indifferent  air  as 
he  replied,  "Plendy  nuff  so  Ah  buy  dese  shob  an' 
kin  marrie  anybody  Ah  like." 

"Dad  ve'y  nize — fo'  de  pusson  yo'  like,"  insinu- 
ated the  girl. 

"Who  is  yo',"  blurted  her  lover. 

Tonton  demurred  a  moment,  as  though  weigh- 
ing an  important  question  and  then  rejoined, 
"Well,  Ah  tink  'boud  dad." 

"Yo'  plez  tink  quick.  Ah  mighd  exchange  my 
mind." 

This  warning  did  not  frighten  the  Yellow  Kit- 
ten. She  was  confident  enough  of  her  power 
over  him  to  play  indifferent,  too,  and  then  she  did 
not  propose  to  be  too  easily  won.  "Of  course 
yo'  ad  liberdy  to  do  dad,  Poupet.  Only  den  Ah 
nod  take  de  trooble  to  tink,  or  to  pud  a  red  rose 
in  my  hair  sometime." 

"Why  yo'  goin'  to  pud  a  red  rose  in  you'  hair?" 
he  asked. 

"To  tell  de  pusson  whad  like  to  marrie  me  dad 
Ah  have  tink  de  'yes.'  But  id  iz  possib'  dad  Ah 
pud  a  yaller  rose  in  my  hair." 

"Fo'  whad,  Tonton?" 

"Fo'de'no!"' 

275 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

At  that  moment  Jallot  and  Osbourne,  their 
plans  concluded  for  the  night's  important  busi- 
ness, came  into  the  atelier.  Seeing  the  Ameri- 
can, Tonton  turned  and  offered  him  the  letter, 
saying,  "Dese  iz  fo'  yo',  Michie." 

He  took  the  note  and  glanced  through  it  has- 
tily. "Tell  your  mistress  that  I  thank  her." 

The  girl  dropped  him  a  courtesy,  and,  with  a 
saucy  look  at  Poupet,  went  out.  He  did  not  wait 
a  moment,  but,  much  to  Jallot's  amusement, 
snatched  up  his  hat  and  started  after  her. 

"If  you  were  as  persistent  about  winning  the 
mistress  as  Poupet  is  about  conquering  the  maid, 
I  should  have  no  doubt  about  your  success,  my 
friend,"  said  the  barber. 

Osbourne  laughed.  "I'm  afraid  I  do  lack  his 
enterprise  and  yours;  but  to-night  at  least  will 
remove  any  possibility  of  Lemaitre's  re-entering 
the  field  against  me." 

"No,  no,"  objected  Jallot;  "we  are  to  spare 
him." 

"That  will  not  be  necessary."  Osbourne  gave 
his  companion  the  letter  he  had  just  received. 
"Read  that,"  he  drawled. 

The  note  was  brief.  It  said:  "Beware  of  Mon- 
sieur Lemaitre.  His  jealousy  has  made  him  bold. 
He  will  kill  you  if  he  can  take  you  unawares.  Tell 
Monsieur  Jallot  that  I  relieve  him  of  his  prom- 
ise to  spare  this  gentleman.  Ottilie  Trudeau." 

276 


THE  YELLOW  KITTEN 

Jallot  looked  up.  ''Quite  significant,"  he  re- 
marked. 

"Plain,  I  should  say." 

"My  dear  Osbourne,  you  are  to  be  congratu- 
lated." 

"I  fail  to  see—" 

"That  Mademoiselle  Trudeau  has  had  a  thor- 
ough change  of  heart?" 

"No  news  to  me!"  rejoined  the  American. 
"She  discarded  Lemaitre  weeks  ago." 

"I  see  you  will  not  understand,"  plagued  Jal- 
lot. "I  said  'a  thorough  change  of  heart.' 
To  jilt  one  lover  means  but  a  partial  revolution  of 
affection.  A  woman  must  take  up  a  new  one  to 
make  the  change  thorough." 

Osbourne  shook  his  head.  "You  cannot  con- 
vince me  that  women  are  so  readily  off  with  the 
old  and  on  with  the  new." 

"In  my  all-too-brief  experience,"  smiled  the 
barber,  "I  have  found  that  some  folks  change  their 
affections  as  lightly  as  they  doff  their  clothes." 

"Mademoiselle  Trudeau  is  not  so  fickle  as  that !" 
Osbourne  was  angry. 

"How  you  storm  in  her  defense,"  laughed  the 
barber.  "She  is  not  fickle!  No,  no!  only  wise. 
For  instance,  I  would  not  accuse  you  of  vacillat- 
ing because  you  discarded  a  coat  which  you  found 
uncomfortable,  and  substituted  a  better  fitting 
garment.  In  all  seriousness  I  think  that  women 
are  more  constant  than  men.  I  do  not  believe 

277 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

that  Mademoiselle  Trudeau's  affection  for  Le- 
maitre  was  genuine.  I  have  the  fancy  that  now 
she  has  found  a  love  which  she  will  wear,  like  her 
skin,  until  she  dies." 

Osbourne  seized  the  speaker  by  the  shoulders, 
and,  looking  him  fairly  in  the  eyes,  asked,  "You 
are  not  making  sport  of  me?" 

"No,  man;  but  I  shall  be  if  you  stay  here  when 
you  should  be  taking  the  Bayou  Road  to  knock  at 
the  door  of  Mademoiselle's  heart." 

"You  would  go  to  her,  Jallot?" 

"I  would  fly  to  her!"  He  gave  the  sheriff  a 
push  toward  the  door.  "Good  luck,  old  friend!" 

"Whether  I  win  or  lose  I  shall  be  here  by  ten 
o'clock  to-night,  depend  upon  me,"  were  Os- 
bourne's  parting  words. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

A  CRESCENDO  OF  HYSTERIA 

For  almost  an  hour  after  his  conversation  with 
Osbourne,  Jallot  sat  at  the  atelier  window  consid- 
ering how  he  had  best  approach  Delicado  so  that 
he  might  not  fail  to  secure  the  facts  of  Antoin- 
ette's parentage.  He  was  determined  that  be- 
fore the  meeting  of  the  conspirators  the  Spaniard 
should  yield  up  to  him  whatever  knowledge  he 
possessed  of  the  girl's  history.  The  case  was 
urgent,  and  the  barber  was  prepared  to  hazard, 
if  need  be,  even  the  State's  cause  to  wrest  the  in- 
formation from  Delicado. 

As  he  pondered  there,  the  twilight,  like  a  pur- 
ple veil,  enveloped  the  place;  and  soon  the  deeper 
blue  of  night  scarfed  up  the  garden.  Poupet  be- 
gan lighting  the  studio  candles  and  Jerome  came 
tiptoeing  to  the  window. 

"Papoute,"  he  purred,  rubbing  his  cheek 
against  Jallot's  hand;  "ain'd  yo'  goin'  to  put  me 
to  bed?" 

The  barber  caught  the  boy  up  in  his  arms,  and 
set  him  on  his  knee.  "If  you  promise  not  to  scold 
me  for  forgetting,  Jerome,  I  will  tell  you  a  sleepy 
story." 

279  j 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

"A  sleepy  story  ?"     The  child  was  puzzled. 

"Did  your  mother  never  tuck  you  up  for  the 
night  between  a  song  and  a  story?"  asked  Jallot, 
with  assumed  surprise. 

Jerome  shook  his  curly  head,  and  laid  his  small 
hand  on  the  barber's  cheek  with  a  coaxing  caress. 
"Papoute,  yo'  put  me  to  bed  like  dat." 

"Very  well;  here  goes  for  the  story,  and  a  true 
one,"  began  Jallot.  "Once  upon  a  time,  long, 
long  ago,  when  I  was  a  little  fellow — not  very 
much  bigger  than  you — " 

"How  big?" 

He  illustrated.  "I  lived  in  a  far-away  country 
where  they  were  exceedingly  busy  cutting  off  the 
heads  of  kings  and  princes." 

Jerome  became  animate  with  interest.  "Oh," 
he  cried,  sitting  up  straight;  "did  you  ever  see  a 
prince?" 

"Better  than  that,  cheri;  I  have  played  with  a 
princess." 

"A  really,  truly  princess?" 

Jallot  smiled  at  the  boy's  wonderment.  "Her 
papa  was  a  prince,  so  I  fancy  that  she  must  have 
been  a  princess." 

"What  was  her  name,  Papoute?" 

"Marguerite." 

"Was  her  hair  all  gold?" 

"I  forget  what  her  hair  was  like.  I  only  re- 
member that  she  was  so  small  that  I  could  carry 
her  on  my  back  all  over  the  ship." 

280 


A  CRESCENDO  OF  HYSTERIA 

Jerome's  eyes  widened.  "A  ship !"  he  gasped. 
"Were  yo'  on  a  big  ship?" 

"A  huge  ship,"  rejoined  the  barber.  "The  prin- 
cess was  running  away  with  her  mother,  and  I 
with  mine,  to  this  country  where  they  let  folks 
wear  their  heads." 

"I  wish  I  had  a  big  ship,"  sighed  the  boy. 

Jallot  drew  him  a  little  closer  as  he  said,  "I  hope 
your  ship,  when  it  comes,  will  not  be  like  'The 
Golden  Hope.'  It  was  a  sad  ship,  Jerome;  on 
that  voyage  my  mother  died,  and  the  little  prin- 
cess's mother  died — and  both  went  down,  down 
into  the  sea." 

After  a  moment's  consideration,  Jerome  an- 
nounced, with  conviction,  "Then  you  were  or- 
phings !" 

"Without  a  doubt,  we  were,"  smiled  the  bar- 
ber; "and  I  had  to  pretend  to  be  the  little  prin- 
cess's father  because  she  had  no  one  to  take  care 
of  her." 

"Where  were  all  her  slaves  and  soldiers,  Pa- 
poute?" 

"Left  behind  in  France,  I  suppose;  and  no  one, 
but  I,  knew  that  she  was  a  princess." 

The  boy  was  still  for  a  little  while,  and  then  in- 
quired, sleepily,  "Are  you  her  father  now?" 

"No,"  said  Jallot,  laughing  softly. 

"Tell  me  more,"  yawned  Jerome;  "an'  please 
make  'em  find  a  white  horse  with  pink  wings  to 
take  'em  rainbow  rides,  like  the  lill'  boy  yo'  tol" 

281 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

me  'bout  dat  never  threw  stones  at  dogs." 

"I'm  very  sorry,  but  I  cannot  do  that,"  said 
Jallot,  giving  the  boy  a  hug,  "for  this  is  a  true 
story  that  I'm  telling  you.  The  end  of  it  is  this : 
When  the  ship  at  last  reached  New  Orleans  the 
little  princess  was  taken  away  from  me,  and  I 
never,  never  saw  her  again." 

The  child  was  very  sleepy  by  this  time.  He 
murmured,  "You  won't  let  an  ogre  or  nothing 
take  me  away,  will  you,  Papoute?" 

The  barber  set  Jerome's  mind  at  rest  on  that 
point,  and  as  the  boy's  head  drooped  upon  his 
shoulder,  he  whispered,  "Ah,  the  fairies  are  dust- 
ing their  sleepy  sand  into  your  eyes,  Jerome." 
So  saying,  he  began  to  sing,  in  a  soft  baritone 
voice,  a  lullaby  of  his  own  invention: 

When  night  comes,  the  slumber  fairies, 
From  some  far-off  moonlit  strand, 
Wing  their  way  to  drowsy  children 
Bringing  gold  and  silver  sand. 
Every  grain  they  bear  is  laden 
With  a  wond'rous  dream  and  bright; 
And  with  lotus  leaves  they  dust  their 
Drooping  eyelids   through  the  night. 

Jerome  slept.  Presently  Poupet  came  in  and 
asked  in  a  whisper,  "Air  yo'  at  home,  Michie? 
Dere  is  a  lady  whad  like  fo'  to  see  you'." 

The  woman,  whose  face  was  veiled,  did  not 
stand  upon  invitation,  but  entered  at  once  from 

282 


A  CRESCENDO  OF  HYSTERIA 

the  garden  as  Jallot  transferred  Jerome  to  the 
quadroon's  arms.  He  held  up  a  cautioning  fin- 
ger to  the  intruder  and  pointed  to  the  sleeping 
boy,  whom  Poupet,  at  his  command,  carried  off 
to  bed. 

When  they  were  alone,  the  barber  looked  stead- 
fastly for  a  moment  at  his  visitor.  The  scarf, 
which  concealed  her  features,  floated  over  her 
shoulder,  and  clung  to  her  graceful  figure  as 
though  it  were  a  shred  of  the  night  mist.  In  the 
dim  candle-light  she  seemed  to  him  like  a  visitant 
from  the  spirit  world.  "Who  are  you?"  he  asked, 
courteously. 

With  a  pretty  gesture  of  abandon  she  threw 
back  the  veil  and  his  amazed  eyes  beheld  the  face 
of  Antoinette.  Some  subtle  change  had  come 
over  those  lovely  features  since  he  had  last  looked 
upon  them.  They  appeared  more  delicate,  more 
beautiful  and  suffused  with  light — the  soul  of  her 
was  there  as  he  had  never  seen  it  before.  He 
felt  as  though  he  must  fall  down  upon  his  knees 
before  this  saintly  vision,  a  worshiper  more  than 
a  lover;  but  lover,  too,  for  there  was  a  storming 
of  cries  in  his  heart,  a  flood  of  electric  pulsations, 
tingling  to  the  tips  of  his  fingers;  a  surging  of 
poignant  emotions  which  stifled  utterance,  and  left 
him  standing  there  with  mute  parted  lips,  only 
voicing  his  adoration  in  a  look  and  the  movement 
of  a  hand,  flung  out  to  her  unconsciously. 

She  thought,  "When  I  die  I  should  like  to  know 

283 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

that  those  fingers  would  close  my  eyes."  Then 
she  spoke,  in  a  tone  of  nervous  tension.  "Mon- 
sieur, I  have  come  to  warn  you.  Do  not  stay 
here  another  moment." 

Jallot,  whose  eyes  never  left  her  face,  mechani- 
cally asked,  "What  is  the  matter?" 

"A  mob  is  coming — to  attack  your  atelier." 

He  stared  at  "her  in  amazement.  "You  must 
be  mistaken.  What  have  I  done  that  I  should 
be  chosen  for  such  a  signal  honor,  Mademoiselle  ?" 

"You  have  hung  an  American  flag  over  your 
shop." 

"What?     A  flag?"     He  laughed. 

"I  have  not  seen  it  myself,  Monsieur,  but  I 
have  no  doubt  it  is  there,  showing  brazenly  on  the 
street." 

Jallot  begged  her  to  excuse  him,  and  hurried 
across  the  court  to  the  entrance.  She  followed 
him,  and  there,  quite  plain  now  in  the  moonlight, 
they  saw  the  banner  folding  and  unfolding  in  the 
evening  breeze.  He  puzzled  over  it  for  an  in- 
stant, and  then  exclaimed :  "Morbleu,  who  could 
have  done  it?"  Then  he  began  to  laugh,  con- 
vinced that  it  was  the  work  of  Jerome  and  Pou- 
pet,  whose  secret  purchase  had  never  been  ex- 
plained to  him. 

Antoinette  laid  a  hand  on  his  arm.  "Monsieur, 
this  is  nothing  to  laugh  about;  I  beg  you  to  tear 
down  the  flag  and  go." 

"I  did  not  put  it  up,  but  since  it  is  there — there 

284 


You  CARED  ENOUGH  TO  COME  AT  NIGHT — ALONE?" 


A  CRESCENDO  OF  HYSTERIA 

shall  it  stay.  Come  in,  Mademoiselle/'  he  con- 
tinued, bowing  her  through  the  arch  and  follow- 
ing her  into  the  atelier.  "Be  good  enough  to  tell 
me  what  you  know  of  this  affair." 

"Let  me  impress  upon  you,  Monsieur,  that 
your  life  is  in  jeopardy.  My  father  was  passing 
the  Theatre  Saint  Pierre,  but  half  an  hour  ago. 
He  saw  a  great  crowd  gathered  there,  harangued 
in  turn  by  Monsieur  Gazonac  and  Monsieur  Al- 
lard— " 

"Allard — returned?    Are  you  sure?" 

"So  my  father  said.  They  were  urging  the 
people  to  destroy  you  for  flaunting  the  American 
flag  over  your  atelier.  Herr  Froebel  tried  to 
pacify  them — they  struck  him  down  and  beat  him. 
He  came  home  ill — in  terror;  yet  he  wished  to 
warn  you.  I  would  not  let  him  go — " 

Jallot's  voice  shook  as  he  interjected,  "So  you 
came !" 

"I — I — there  was  no  one  else — to  be  trusted — 
with  such — an  important  message,"  she  stam- 
mered. 

Again,  in  spite  of  his  efforts  to  subdue  his  tone, 
the  words  came  vibrantly:  "You  cared  enough 
for  me — to  come  at  night — alone?" 

Antoinette  was  standing  at  one  side  of  a  small 
table,  he  at  the  other.  A  solitary  candle  burned 
between  them.  Its  light  laid  a  delicate  glow  upon 
their  features,  and,  as  Jallot  put  his  question,  he 
could  see  quite  plainly  the  play  of  emotion  in  the 

285 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

woman's  face.  She  turned  from  him  a  little  be- 
fore replying,  with  a  faint  sign  of  bitterness,  "I 
am  an  octoroon — what  matters  it  where  I  go  or 
when!"  Then  she  added,  making  a  quick  tran- 
sition to  softer  speech,  "I  was  glad  to  serve  you, 
Monsieur,  and  would  have — at  a  greater  cost." 

"I  thank  you,  Mademoiselle,"  was  all  he  dared 
to  say  in  gratitude. 

She  faced  him  then.     "But  you  will  not  go?" 

He  shook  his  head.  She  reflected  a  moment, 
and  exclaimed:  "But  that  crowd  at  the  Theatre 
Saint  Pierre  will  presently  become  a  mob!  You 
know  what  that  means  in  New  Orleans!" 

"I  shall  be  ready  for  them."  These  were  his 
words,  but  with  his  eyes  he  spoke  of  tenderer 
things. 

Antoinette  did  not  venture  to  meet  that  look 
but  once.  Her  chin  sank  into  the  folds  of  her  veil. 
Lowering  her  voice  to  a  murmur,  she  said,  "I 
came  here  to-night  to  warn  you — because — be- 
cause I  should  grieve  if  any  harm  came  to  you." 
His  silence  gave  her  courage  to  go  on.  She  raised 
her  head,  and  in  a  cadence  of  infinite  solicitude, 
cried :  "Oh,  if  you  have  any  regard  for  me — you 
will  stay  here  no  longer." 

Jallot  leaned  across  the  table  toward  her.  He 
,spoke  quiveringly.  "Regard,  Mademoiselle,  is 
not  the  word — " 

What  more  he  might  have  said,  she  could  only 
surmise,  for  at  that  moment  the  court  door  flung 

286 


A  CRESCENDO  OF  HYSTERIA 

violently  open,  and  Lemaitre  strode  into  the  ate- 
lier. He  paused  for  an  instant,  surprising  Antoin- 
ette, and  stared  at  her  in  insolent  amusement. 
Jallot,  bristling  with  resentment  at  the  intrusion, 
turned  from  the  table  with  an  exclamation  of  an- 
ger. 

"No  doubt  I  intrude,"  began  the  Creole;  "but 
I  shall  not  detain  you  long,  Monsieur." 

"What  do  you  want?"  There  was  a  threat  in 
the  barber's  interrogation. 

"That  fellow  Osbourne!" 

"This  is  not  his  address!" 

"But  he  receives  letters  here!" 

"That  is  his  affair,  not  yours,  Monsieur  Le- 
maitre. And  now,  having  concluded  your  busi- 
ness, pray  go." 

The  intruder  gave  a  chuckle  and  moved  leis- 
urely toward  the  door.  There  he  faced  about 
and  bowed,  saying  with  a  jeer,  "Bonjour,  Mon- 
sieur. I  leave  you  with  the  woman  you  have 
bought." 

"del!"  cried  Jallot,  his  wrath  mounting.  He 
sprang  at  Lemaitre,  who  slipped  out  of  the  atelier 
and  closed  the  door  after  him. 

Antoinette  had  stood  there  all  the  while,  im- 
mobile as  a  statue.  Now  she  made  a  sudden 
movement  toward  Jallot,  gasping:  "Monsieur, 
what — what  did — he — mean  ?" 

"Nothing — nothing,  Mademoiselle,"  he  replied 
quickly,  endeavoring  to  conceal  his  agitation. 

287 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

Then  from  the  open  window  came  another  re- 
ply to  the  girl's  question.  Lemaitre  thrust  his 
head  through  the  casement  and  laughed:  ''It 
means  that  Delicado  offered  you  for  sale,  An- 
toinette !  That  Jallot  bought  you  at  auction !  He 
likes  yellow  girls!"  So  saying,  he  disappeared 
before  the  barber  could  lay  hands  on  him. 

Antoinette  staggered  as  under  a  blow,  mute 
with  a  horror  which  flashed  upon  her  understand- 
ing with  the  vividness  of  lightning,  leaving  her 
dazed,  bewildered.  Noting  how  faint  she  was, 
Jallot  hastened  to  aid  her;  but,  as  he  touched  the 
girl,  she  shrank  from  him  in  a  panic.  "No — no 
— wait !"  Her  hand  clutched  at  the  table  for  sup- 
port. "What — is — this  terrible  thing — he  said?" 
she  demanded,  the  words  coming  between  deep, 
quavering  breaths,  each  one  a  cry  suppressed.  "I 
know  that  I  am  an  octoroon,"  she  went  on;  "but 
that  you — you — bought  me!  Dicn!"  This  in  a 
crescendo  of  hysteria,  which  broke  off  into  sobs 
and  mounted  again  into  a  tremolo,  as  she  en- 
treated, "Say  that  you  have  not  bought  me !  Oh, 
Monsieur,  it  is  not  true !  You  could  not — would 
not  so  humiliate  me!"  She  paused,  waiting  an 
instant  for  a  denial,  but  he  made  none,  only  stand- 
ing there  as  though  convicted  of  a  great  guilt. 
"Why  do  you  not  speak?"  She  trembled  in  ter- 
ror. "Dieu!  Speak,  speak,  speak!"  In  a  frenzy 
she  held  out  her  arms  to  him  supplicatingly. 

"Be  calm,  Mademoiselle,"  he  implored. 

288 


"You  have  bought  me !"  It  was  an  accusation 
pronounced  with  terrible  quietude. 

Jallot  cringed  under  it;  then  ventured  this  de- 
fence :  "Mademoiselle — Delicado  put  you  up  for 
sale  to  the  highest  bidder — I  was  obliged — " 

"You  bought  me — bought  me — bought  me ! 
You  beast !"  Shame,  hatred  and  desperation  made 
up  the  sum  of  that  whispered  invective. 

"I  did  it  to  save  you  from  a  worse'  fate,"  he 
expostulated. 

She  laughed  horridly  and  retorted  in  a  fury, 
"You  bought  me  to  be  revenged,  you  mean! 
Yes — revenged  for  my  rebuffs!  You  barber! 
And  I  thought  you  a  man!  Well,  you  have 
bought  me!  What  further  ignominy  must  I  suf- 
fer at  your  hands?"  She  whirled  to  the  garden 
door. 

"Mademoiselle,"  cried  Jallot,  following  her; 
"the  only  wrong  that  I  have  done  has  been  to  love 
you !" 

Antoinette  turned  upon  him  with  loathing. 
"Love!  Your  lips  soil  the  word — "  She  paused. 
From  afar  off,  but  plainly  drawing  nearer,  they 
heard  a  tumultuous  murmuring.  "They  are 
coming!"  This  triumphantly.  "Stay,  Monsieur 
le  Barbier,  if  you  dare!"  Her  hand  went  to  the 
door  latch,  as  she  added,  vindictively,  "I  hope  they 
will  kill  you!" 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

ONE   MAN  AGAINST  A  HUNDRED 

Jallot,  unmindful  of  the  mob's  approach,  stood 
staring  blindly  at  the  door  through  which  An- 
toinette had  disappeared  but  a  moment  before. 
He  felt  as  though  something  sank  within  him, 
producing  a  strange,  sickening  sensation.  Then 
he  began  to  wonder  how  that  enchanting  visitor, 
who  had  come  so  solicitously  to  warn  him  of  peril, 
could  be  the  same  creature  as  the  fury  who  had 
just  now  gone  from  him,  displaying  such  malig- 
nity. He  had  but  an  instant  to  ruminate  upon 
this  peculiar  manifestation  of  feminine  transition, 
for  Poupet  burst  panic-stricken  into  the  atelier. 

"Michie,"  he  shrieked,  shutting  and  bolting  the 
door  and  hurriedly  fastening  the  window  shut- 
ters; "it  is  a  dreadful — dey's  comin' — a  big  crowd 
— a  mob — " 

"Yes,  it  sounds  like  a  mob,"  laconically  rejoined 
the  barber,  flinging  off  his  coat  as  he  heard  the 
rabble  rushing  into  the  court  with  virulent  cries, 
and  calling  upon  him  to  come  out  that  they  might 
make  an  end  of  him. 

"Dey'll  kill  yo',  Michie"  whined  Poupet,  while 

290 


ONE  MAN  AGAINST  A  HUNDRED 

the  mob  stormed  the  door  and  bawled  out  afresh 
their  imprecations. 

Jallot  paid  no  heed  to  the  quadroon  or  to  the 
clamor  without;  but  fastidiously  selected  a  rapier 
from  the  rack  and  removed  its  button.  Then  he 
leisurely  opened  the  atelier  door. 

The  court  was  fitfully  illuminated  with  torch 
and  lantern  lights,  which  showed  the  barber  a 
hundred  menacing  men  or  more,  packed  beneath 
the  arches,  climbing  over  the  fountain  and  swarm- 
ing up  the  stairways  and  across  the  galleries  of  the 
surrounding  dwellings,  while  the  windows  all 
about  were  animated  with  the  frightened  faces  of 
his  neighbors. 

The  cries  of  the  rabble,  calling  for  vengeance 
upon  Jallot,  ceased  abruptly  as  he  appeared. 
Those  who  had  pressed  forward  to  break  in  the 
door  fell  back  in  precipitate  haste. 

"Bonsoir,  Messieurs,"  began  the  barber,  salut- 
ing the  crowd  with  his  sword.  "To  what  do  I 
owe  the  honor  of  this  visitation?" 

Gazonac,  who,  with  Villebois,  Lemaitre  and  Al- 
lard,  stood  in  the  van  of  the  mob,  called  out  lust- 
ily, "Don't  be  frightened  by  a  mountebank !" 

"Or  a  barber,"  added  Lemaitre. 

"Or  a  trick  dog!"  laughed  Villebois. 

"Come  on  then — the  pack  of  you,"  challenged 
Jallot. 

The  murmuring  throng  fell  back  again  as  he 
advanced. 

291 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

"Take  him !  Down  with  the  barber !  Break 
his  head!"  These  encouraging  shouts  came  from 
Gazonac's  party,  who  thus  desperately  urged  the 
rank  and  file  to  action. 

Jallot  appealed  to  the  men  nearest  him.  "Send 
those  who  urge  you  first:  Gazonac,  Villebois,  Le- 
maitre  and  that  snivelling  editor!" 

Gazonac,  not  lacking  courage,  whipped  out  his 
long  sword  from  its  cane-sheath,  and  crying,  "I'm 
your  man !"  sprang  impetuously  at  the  barber. 
Jallot  met  him  gaily,  and,  as  they  crossed  blades, 
he  remarked: 

"Know,  Monsieur,  when  you  feel  my  sword 
searching  your  ribs,  that  I  am  thinking  how  you 
shamed  a  certain  lady  at  the  Tivoli !" 

They  had  scarcely  exchanged  a  dozen  passes, 
when  the  barber,  with  a  sudden  thrust,  so  rapid 
that  none  saw  the  play  of  his  steel,  ran  his  oppon- 
ent through  the  shoulder,  and  the  conspirator  fell 
back  groaning  into  the  arms  of  Allard. 

"That,  for  Mademoiselle!"  exclaimed  Jallot, 
with  a  placid  countenance.  And  as  a  threatening 
mutter  went  up  from  the  crowd  to  the  accompani- 
ment of  hand-claps  from  the  window,  he  added 
merrily,  after  the  fashion  of  a  tonsor  addressing 
his  customers,  "Next!  This  is  an  excellent  shop 
in  which  to  get  your  throat  cut!" 

"He's  the  limb  of  the  fiend,"  ejaculated  one  of 
the  mob,  making  way  for  Allard,  who  carried 

292 


ONE  MAN  AGAINST  A  HUNDRED 

Gazonac  to  the  fountain,  and  set  about  reviving 
him. 

"I've  no  wish  to  get  my  throat  cut,"  exclaimed 
another,  backing  further  away  from  the  reach  of 
Jallot's  rapier. 

"Come!"  chided  the  barber.  "This  is  a  gen- 
eral challenge.  I'll  take  you  each  in  turn !"  He 
looked  about,  smiling  his  invitation.  Observ- 
ing that  no  one  responded,  he  called  out  in  ridi- 
cule, "Ah,  your  valor  is  in  your  tongue!"  He 
waited  again  for  some  show  of  opposition,  then 
resumed  with  defiance :  "If  you  will  not  fight — you 
shall  listen  to  me!" 

"Cowards!"  stormed  Lemaitre,  waving  his  cane 
frantically  at  the  crowd. 

"Fight  with  him  first  and  listen  to  him  after- 
wards," jibed  Villebois. 

Jallot  quickly  turned  to  the  Creole.  "Set  them 
an  example  yourself,  Villebois.  Come,  step  out 
— you,  too,  Lemaitre!  I'll  take  you  in  pairs,"  he 
taunted. 

"That's  fair  enough,"  said  a  Frenchman,  who 
held  a  lantern  in  the  front  ranks. 

The  barber  nodded  graciously.  "Oh,  I  know 
3'ou  gentlemen  will  see  fair  play  here." 

"What's  fair  play  with  a  traitor  like  you?" 
bawled  a  Spaniard,  flaunting  a  piece  of  the  flag 
that  he  had  torn  down. 

"Hear  my  side  of  this  affair,  Messieurs,  and — " 

"Sacre!"    interrupted    Lemaitre.     "His    mouth 

293 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

is  packed  with  lies !" 

"And  your  scabbard  is  packed  with  boasts,  or 
I  should  ask  you  to  back  your  words  with  steel," 
retorted  the  barber. 

"Speak,  Jallot,  we'll  hear  you,"  ventured  an 
elderly  Creole. 

The  crowd,  at  this,  signified  their  willingness  to 
listen,  silencing  the  few  who  objected. 

"Thank  you,  Messieurs,"  began  Jallot  with  a 
noble  air,  "I  know  you  do  not  come  in  malice,  as 
do  these  gentlemen — who  will  not  fight." 

"Traitor  to  Louisiana!"  shouted  Lemaitre. 

"Will  some  one  hush  that  jackanapes  or  shall 
I?"  This  from  the  master,  with  a  flourish  of  his 
sword. 

There  were  cries  then  to  put  the  Creole  out  and 
some  jostled  him  roughly. 

"If  I  am  a  traitor  to  Louisiana,  you  may  do 
with  me  as  you  will,"  resumed  Jallot,  simply. 

"Why  then  have  you  hung  this  bastard  banner 
over  your  door?"  demanded  the  Spaniard,  hold- 
ing aloft  his  tattered  remnant  of  the  flag. 

The  barber's  expression  became  grave  as  he 
replied,  "I  do  not  wonder  that  you  put  the  ques- 
tion to  mel  I  do  not  blame  you  because  you 
come  to  me  in  hate !  You  love  your  State — it's 
French,  blood  and  bone;  and  so  your  loyal  hearts 
must  weep  to  see  this  strange  flag  flaunting  its 
stars  and  stripes,  where  once  floated  the  tri-color 
of  France." 

294 


ONE  MAN  AGAINST  A  HUNDRED 

The  crowd  set  up  a  howl,  and  one  shouted 
that  he  had  named  a  good  reason  for  their 
throttling  him.  Jallot  appeared  not  to  heed  them. 
He  raised  his  voice  again :  "Nor  do  I  blame  you 
for  thinking  me  a  traitor  since  I  show  above  my 
shop  the  emblem  of  this  new  government — it  is 
only  that  you  do  not  understand !" 

A  chorus  of  yells  greeted  the  speaker;  jeers  and 
threats  mingling.  "We're  slaves  to  this  new 
government !  We'll  do  for  those  who  uphold  it !" 
clamored  a  man,  brandishing  a  cleaver. 

"You've  said  the  word — 'slaves !'  "  continued 
Jallot,  as  soon  as  he  could  make  himself  heard. 
"But  that  is  what  you  were — not  what  you  are. 
Your  own  mother,  France,  sold  you  to  Spain; 
Louis  gave  you  to  Carlos  in  secret  bargain;  and 
Spain  sent  you  her  slave-driver,  the  Cruel 
O'Reilly,  to  govern  you.  He  took  the  lives  of 
your  dearest  patriots! — remember  the  martyred 
Lafreniere,  Noyan,  Villere,  Marquis,  Milhet! — 
Spain  ruined  you  and  flung  you  back  to  France 
again,  like  some  worn-out,  despised  thing.  Did 
France  hear  Louisiana,  her  child,  crying  to  her 
across  the  sea?  Did  France  take  you  to  her 
breast?  No!  This  inhuman  mother  bartered  for 
your  blood  again;  she  abandoned  you,  put  you  up 
at  auction  in  the  world's  slave  market;  offered  you 
to  the  highest  bidder  for  so  much  gold!  And 
then  young,  brave,  free,  sympathetic  America 
took  you  to  her  heart — adopted  you !  This  poor, 

295 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

bedraggled,  outcast  Louisiana,  found  at  last — a 
mother!" 

Mumblings  of  approval  came  from  the  crowd, 
with  here  and  there  a  shout  of  enthusiasm  and 
more  applause  from  the  windows. 

"You  confess  that  what  I  say  is  true,"  cried  Jal- 
lot.  "Yet  you  drag  her  flag  in  the  dust." 

"It's  not  our  flag!"  stubbornly  put  in  the  man 
with  the  cleaver.  "You — " 

The  barber  hushed  him  with  a  gesture,  and 
went  on,  with  gathering  fervor :  "I  grant  you  that 
France  is  your  land  by  birth;  but  America  is  your 
country  by  adoption.  France  forfeited  all  your 
loyalty  when  she  abandoned  you;  America  won 
it  when  she  embraced  you.  Her  rule  will  lift  you 
out  of  commercial  ruin;  and  only  as  a  part  of  the 
United  States  can  Louisiana  enter  upon  a  great 
future.  Yet  you  would  humble  your  adopted 
mother.  You  listen  to  the  words  of  a  few  un- 
grateful, intriguing  men — not  Creoles — no! — but 
foreigners,  who  have  banded  themselves  to- 
gether to  rend  you  from  America,  to  supplant  her 
kindly  rule  with  an  empire  of  their  own,  to  cast 
you  back  into  a  state  of  serfdom  more  tyrannous 
than  the  reign  of  the  Bloody  O'Reilly!  Will  you 
permit  these  men  to  overthrow  your  adopted 
mother?  Will  you  let  them  sow  their  seeds  of 
civic  strife  that  you  may  reap  a  harvest  of  death  ?" 

For  an  instant  the  crowd  remained  hushed,  and 
then  burst  into  a  great  shouting.  "No,  no,  no!" 

296 


ONE  MAN  AGAINST  A  HUNDRED 

they  cried.  A  man,  standing  atop  the  fountain, 
called  out  to  Jallot,  "Who  are  these  men?" 

"Those  who  sent  you  here!  Gazonac,  Ville- 
bois,  Lemaitre,  Allard — and  do  not  forget  Deli- 
cado !"  thundered  the  barber,  carried  away  by  his 
own  enthusiasm. 

The  effect  of  Jallot's  harangue  was  magical.  It 
worked  a  complete  transition  in  the  hearts  of  the 
rabble.  Those  who  had  been  loudest  in  their 
denunciation,  and  most  eager  to  wreak  vengeance 
upon  him,  turned  with  even  greater  malig- 
nity upon  the  conspirators;  but  those  adventurers, 
seeing  how  the  tide  was  set  against  them,  had 
slipped  away  and  now  ran  madly  down  the  street. 

The  discovery  of  their  escape  was  signalized  by 
a  fresh  outburst  of  demoniac  clamor.  Those  at 
the  entrance  called  upon  those  within  that  their 
quarry  was  still  in  sight,  and  started  in  pursuit; 
while  from  gallery  and  stairway  the  embittered 
throng,  shouting  blasphemous  threats,  came  tum- 
bling pell-mell  into  the  court,  fighting  with  one 
another  as  in  desperate  haste  they  pressed  through 
the  narrow  passage  to  join  the  chase  in  full  cry 
down  the  Rue  du  Maine. 

The  leaders  of  the  rabble  were  scarcely  a  hun- 
dred yards  behind  the  fugitives,  who  were  bur- 
dened with  the  wounded  Gazonac.  Despite  that 
handicap  they  maintained  their  distance  awhile, 
since  terror  lent  them  speed  if  not  endurance. 
Pantingly  they  turned  at  the  quay  and  ran  along 

297 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

the  levee,  Lemaitre  a  little  way  in  advance  and 
Gazonac  following  between  the  supporting  arms 
of  Villebois  and  Allard.  The  pack  came  yelping 
on  as  though  the  chase  were  sport  to  them;  and 
their  cries,  reverberating  ominously  through  the 
night,  attracted  the  attention  of  Osbourne,  who, 
failing  to  find  Ottilie  at  home,  was  hastily  re- 
turning in  the  direction  of  the  atelier.  His  prac- 
ticed ear  told  him  that  the  hunt,  whatever  it  was, 
now  headed  back  to  the  river,  so  he  cut  through 
the  Rue  Chartres  with  the  hope  of  intercepting 
the  quarry.  As  he  reached  the  Rue  Ste.  Anne,  he 
caught  sight  of  Gazonac  and  his  companions  stag- 
gering across  the  Place  d'  Armes  with  the  mob 
but  a  few  yards  behind  them.  In  a  final  desperate 
rush,  they  reached  the  closed  portal  of  the  cathe- 
dral, where  they  faced  about  at  bay,  their  bared 
swords  flashing  in  the  moonlight. 

As  Osbourne  came  up,  the  clamor  of  the  crowd 
roused  the  guard  from  the  government  house; 
and  there  was  need  of  them,  for  the  mob,  chorus- 
ing vengeance,  fell  unhesitatingly  upon  the  con- 
spirators and  dragged  them  from  the  church  steps. 
It  would  have  gone  ill  with  them  if  the  guard, 
under  the  command  of  Osbourne,  had  not  rallied 
to  their  rescue,  which  was  not  accomplished  with- 
out the  exchange  of  hard  knocks  and  the  earnest 
use  of  steel.  Even  then,  it  was  a  much  battered 
company  of  adventurers  whom  the  sheriff  wrested 
from  the  rabble. 

298 


ONE  MAN  AGAINST  A  HUNDRED 

Recognizing  those  whom  he  had  befriended, 
Osbourne  packed  them  off  to  the  gaol,  directed  a 
surgeon  to  look  to  their  hurts,  and  detained  them 
there  under  strict  surveillance  as  conspirators 
against  the  government. 

Many  of  the  mob,  cheated  of  their  prey,  dis- 
persed; but  some  thirty  of  them,  their  savagery 
unsatisfied,  insisted  that  they  should  immediately 
find  another  victim.  One,  remembering  Jal- 
lot's  caution  not  to  forget  the  leader  of  the  con- 
spiracy, bawled  out  that  worthy's  name,  calling 
for  vengeance  upon  him;  and  a  tailor,  to  whom 
Delicado  had  refused  payment  of  a  debt,  volun- 
teered to  lead  the  way  to  the  Spaniard's  domicile. 

Straight  off  they  marched  to  the  Rue  Toulouse, 
and  for  fear  that  so  large  a  body  of  men  should 
frighten  the  game  away,  some  few  skirmished 
ahead  and  knocked  quietly  at  the  door  of  No.  n. 

The  page,  who  answered  their  calls,  declared 
that  his  master  was  not  at  home;  but,  doubting 
his  word,  they  seized  him,  bound  his  fellow-ser- 
vants, and,  calling  to  their  companions,  began  to 
ransack  the  house.  They  explored  every  possi- 
ble hiding  place  and  left  behind  them  a  trail  of 
wanton  destruction. 

Satisfied  at  last  that  Delicado  was  not  concealed 
about  the  premises,  the  rabble  determined  to 
await  his  return.  The  salon,  set  out  for  supper, 
attracted  their  attention.  They  took  possession 
of  it,  released  the  servants,  and,  compelling  them 

299 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

to  serve  up  the  choicest  vintage  of  the  Spaniard's 
cellar,  began  a  riotous  revelry  such  as  the  Rue 
Toulouse  had  never  heard  of  before. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THE  BARRIER  OF  CASTE 

Whilst  all  these  brutish  episodes  disturbed  the 
city's  peace,  Jallot  sought  surcease  of  excitement 
in  the  garden  of  the  atelier.  Seen  through  the 
smoke  of  his  cigarette,  it  seemed  to  him  the  calm- 
est spot  in  all  the  world.  A  light  breeze  stirred 
the  tops  of  the  Spanish  dagger  trees  and  shook 
free  the  fragrance  of  orange  and  jasmine  and 
roses.  Over  the  high  wall,  moss-grown  and  plas- 
ter-patched, shone  a  horn  of  the  new  moon.  Its 
beams  shot  through  the  shrubbery,  picking  out 
first  the  sun-dial  and  then  the  lion's  head  font, 
which  spilled  a  tiny  stream  of  silver  into  a  marble 
bowl. 

Jallot  rested  upon  a  great  stone  bench,  over- 
hung with  a  bower  of  roses,  and  closed  his  mind 
to  thought,  baring  only  his  senses  to  the  volup- 
tuous night.  So  still  it  was  that  he  could  hear 
the  silken  fall  of  blossoms  and  the  low  whisperings 
of  the  sweet-scented  airs. 

A  faint  footfall  and  the  riffling  sound  of  a  skirt 
disturbed  the  silence,  and  brought  him  to  his  feet 
in  amazement.  Before  him  stood  Antoinette, 

301 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

bearing  a  tray  laden  with  an  omelette,  biscuits 
and  a  bottle  of  wine. 

He  stared  at  the  apparition,  scarcely  believing 
that  he  did  not  dream.  "What — why — you  have 
returned?"  he  stammered  in  his  surprise. 

"I  did  not  go  at  all,  Monsieur."  She  spoke  in 
an  even  tone,  as  stoical  as  the  expression  of  her 
face. 

"You — stayed — here — while  they  stormed — ?" 

"Yes!"  she  broke  in,  meeting  his  incredulous 
glance  unflinchingly. 

He  became  severe.  "You  should  not  have  run 
such  a  risk — they  might  have — "  He  interrupted 
himself,  noting  for  the  first  time  the  tray  she  car- 
ried. "What's  that,  Mademoiselle?" 

"Your  supper!"  She  replied  in  the  most  mat- 
ter of  fact  tone. 

"You  fetch  my  supper — you  ?"  Indignantly  he 
sought  to  take  the  waiter  from  her. 

Antoinette  backed  quickly  away  from  him. 
"Monsieur,  it  is  right  that  I  should  serve  you.  I 
am  your  slave !" 

This  simple  statement  was  like  a  shock  to  Jal- 
lot.  "Sacre  bleu!  No!"  he  cried,  forcibly  tak- 
ing possession  of  the  tray  and  setting  it  on  a  small 
table  which  stood  beside  the  bench. 

"You  have  bought  me,"  she  protested  quietly. 

Jallot  winced  and  looked  at  her  with  abject 
misery.  "Every  word  you  speak  is  like  a  knife 
thrust  in  my  heart,  Mademoiselle." 

302 


THE  BARRIER  OF  CASTE 

"You  must  not  call  me  'Mademoiselle/  I  am 
'Antoinette'  to  you."  She  spoke  placidly,  cold- 
ly, without  any  show  of  the  tremendous  emotion 
that  she  felt. 

Never  had  the  girl  seemed  so  far  removed  from 
him  as  then.  "What  am  I  to  you  ?"  he  asked. 

"You  are  'Sieur  Jallot,  my  master."  Still  there 
was  no  resentment  in  her  voice,  no  color  or  reve- 
lation of  her  deeply  hidden  suffering.  It  seemed 
to  the  barber  as  though  he  were  talking  to  a  white 
mask.  She  was  inscrutable. 

As  he  stood  studying  her,  she  spread  a  napkin 
on  the  table  and  poured  out  a  glass  of  wine. 

"You  shall  not  wait  upon  me,"  he  expostulated 
with  some  warmth. 

Antoinette  paused  and  inquired,  "What  else 
should  I  do?  I  am  your  bond-servant." 

"You  are  cruel!" 

"I  am  an  octoroon!" 

"Mademoiselle — "  It  was  a  broken  remon- 
strance. 

"My  name  is  Antoinette." 

Nothing  had  ever  seemed  so  terrible  to  Jallot 
as  the  persistence  with  which  she  maintained  that 
stoical  demeanor.  It  frightened  him.  When  he 
spoke  again  it  was  with  humility  and  tenderness. 
"Antoinette,  be  merciful!  Treat  me  as  your 
equal !  Here — "  He  waved  his  hand  toward  the 
bench — "sit  down;  we'll  talk  it  over — as — as 
friends." 

303 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

She  was  not  to  be  moved  by  entreaty.  She 
was  determined  that  the  misery,  which  she  fancied 
he  had  inflicted  upon  her,  should  be  visited  upon 
him  with  interest.  "A  slave  must  not  sit  with  her 
master." 

The  barber,  whose  actions  had  been  directed 
entirely  by  his  emotion,  now  made  a  demand  upon 
his  mind  for  assistance,  and  his  brain  dictated  per- 
emptory measures.  "Very  well,  Antoinette,  if 
you  will  have  it  so,  you  shall  obey  me.  Sit  down !" 

His  command  aroused  her  spirit.  "I  will  not," 
she  declared. 

"If  you  do  not  obey  me,"  he  went  on,  threaten- 
ingly, "I  shall  sell  you  to  a  master  who  will  treat 
you  more  brutally  than  I  know  how." 

"You  shall  never  do  that,"  she  cried,  snatching 
a  knife  from  the  tray  and  holding  it  irresolute- 
ly to  her  breast. 

"Antoinette,  will  you  put  down  that  knife?" 
He  asked  this  gently.  Then  as  she  hesitated  to 
comply,  he  thundered,  "Put  it  down!" 

Shocked  at  his  vehemence,  she  obeyed. 

"Now  be  seated,  Antoinette."  Again  he  was 
gentle  and  again  she  demurred.  "Be  seated!"  he 
roared. 

She  sank  trembling  on  the  bench,  while  he 
moved  the  table  in  front  of  her  and  bade  her  taste 
the  omelette. 

"I — I  cannot."  Antoinette  was  on  the  verge 
of  tears. 

304 


THE  BARRIER  OF  CASTE 

"You  shall  obey  me!" 

She  began  to  sob  a  little.  "You — you  treat 
me  as  though  I — I  were  your — slave."  She  lifted 
her  eyes,  brimming  with  tears,  which  the  magic 
moonlight  at  once  transformed  into  gems.  "Oh, 
Monsieur,  you  do  believe  it — that  I  am  an  oc- 
toroon. You  have  bought  me — bought  me — to 
do  with  me  as  you  will." 

Jallot  took  a  bit  of  parchment  from  his  pocket, 
stamped  with  a  red  seal,  and  offered  it  to  her. 
"Mademoiselle,  I  set  you  free — here  are  your 
freedom  papers." 

Antoinette  arose  and  took  the  document,  look- 
ing at  it  blindly  and  in  silence.  At  last  she  asked 
piteously,  "But  what  am  I  to  do — with  my  free- 
dom? If  I  am  an  octoroon  my  friends  will  not 
know  me — every  door  will  be  closed  against 
me — I  will  be  an  outcast — "  She  paused,  shiver- 
ing and  irresolute  for  an  instant.  A  faint  color 
suffused  her  wan  cheeks  and  her  lips  quivered. 
"Ah,  it  would  be  almost  better  that  I  should  stay 
here — your  slave."  Another  pause,  and  she 
added  with  ineffable  pathos,  "At  least  you  would 
not  harm  me." 

He  held  out  his  arms  to  her  in  a  tumult  of  emo- 
tion. "Mademoiselle,  you  shall  stay  here — my 
wife!" 

The  girl's  eyes  widened  and  glowed  with  won- 
drous gratitude.  "Bless  you  for  those  words, 
Victor  Jallot."  As  she  gave  him  her  hand  im- 

305 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

petuously,  Caresse,  seeking  her,  came  from  the 
atelier. 

"Honey,"  drawled  the  bonne,  "Ah  reckon  yo' 
beddah  come  home  wid  me."  She  gave  Jallot  a 
look  of  contempt  and  went  on  in  a  severe  tone. 
"Yo'  aind  got  no  bizness  wid  dat  pusson." 

"I  have  asked  Mademoiselle  to  marry  me,"  said 
the  barber. 

Caresse  gaped  at  him,  thoroughly  disconcerted. 
"De  good  Lord  fo'give  me  fo'  tinkin'  wrong  o' 
yo',  Missou.  Yo'  mighty  noble  genTman;  but 
if  dis  yeh  chile  am  a  yeller  gal,  she  can't  be  no 
wife  t'  yo',  fo'  de  law  won't  led  no  whide  man 
marry  a  pusson  o'  color." 

Antoinette  started  back  from  Jallot  with  a  faint 
cry,  and  sank  down  on  the  bench,  her  face  in  her 
hands. 

Caresse  continued.  "An'  if  she  am  whide,  den 
she  too  much  quality  fo'  you,  Missou." 

"Men  are  what  they  make  of  themselves,  or 
should  be,"  protested  the  barber;  "but  if  the  world 
will  only  measure  us  by  our  birth,  let  me  say  a 
thing  which  I  have  never  said,  much  less  boasted 
of;  though  I  am  not  of  noble  blood — my  father 
owned  an  honored  name  in  France.  He  was 
Miomandre  de  Sainte-Marie,  of  the  Queen's  body 
guard." 

Antoinette  looked  up  in  wonderment.  "Sainte- 
Marie?" 

"Yes,    Mademoiselle — you   will    find    his   name 

306 


THE  BARRIER  OF  CASTE 

upon  one  resplendent  page  of  history.  That  fear- 
ful night  when  the  Paris  horde,  spurred  with  hun- 
ger, drink  and  hate,  stormed  the  palace  at  Ver- 
sailles— my  father  held  the  stair  alone — one  man 
against  hundreds.  While  Lafayette  slept,  while 
princes  fled,  leaving  their  king  and  queen  to  a 
dreadful  fate — Sainte-Marie  kept  that  weaponed 
mob  at  bay — his  single  body,  his  single  sword  be- 
tween them  and  his  sovereigns'  lives." 

"A  brave  soldier!  A  gallant  gentleman!"  de- 
clared Antoinette  rising.  Then  she  asked  in  a 
low  voice,  "He  was  killed  there?" 

"No,  Mademoiselle,  he  lived  to  die  of  his 
wounds  in  Flanders — whither  his  gracious  queen 
bade  him  go  in  exile." 

"And  your  mother?" 

"The  daughter  of  an  English  painter — she  fol- 
lowed my  father  into  banishment;  and  when  he 
was  gone,  took  ship  with  me  to  America."  Jal- 
lot  advanced  a  step  toward  Antoinette,  and  added, 
"Mademoiselle,  I  ask  you  to  take  the  name  of 
Victor  Jallot  Sainte-Marie." 

"Yo'  fo'get  dat  law,  Missou,"  interposed 
Caresse. 

"I  dare  to  break  it!"  The  barber  looked  earn- 
estly at  Antoinette. 

She  made  a  gesture  of  abnegation.  "No,  no, 
Monsieur,  you  shall  not — for  me !  The  son  of 
Miomandre  de  Sainte-Marie  cannot  marry  an 
octoroon."  Her  head  dropped.  She  turned  away. 

307 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

"He  can — if  she  will !"  It  was  both  a  challenge 
and  an  appeal.  It  all  but  overcame  her  hasty  reso- 
lution to  save  him  from  the  shame  she  thought 
must  fall  on  him  should  he  dare  to  link  his  fate 
with  hers. 

"No — no — it  cannot  be  !"  cried  the  girl,  moving 
swiftly  toward  the  garden  door. 

Jallot  followed  her.  "Remember  that  I  love 
you,  Mademoiselle;  that  I  am  here  waiting  for 
you;  that  I  shall  be  waiting,  waiting  for  you,  hop- 
ing that  at  last  you  will  come  and  say  to  me,  'I  am 
here — I  do  not  care  for  that  law — take  me  away.'  ' 

Then,  if  he  had  only  understood,  she  rendered 
him  the  testimony  of  her  love,  for  the  spell  of  self- 
sacrifice  was  strong  upon  her.  She  coined  it  in 
the  metal  of  a  lie:  "I  do  not  love  you — I  shall 
never  come — never ! — because  I  do  not  love  you  !" 

She  was  gone,  leaving  Jallot  with  the  spectre  of 
love  to  haunt  and  torture  him. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

Jallot  fled  from  the  garden — fled  from  the  ghost 
of  love,  which  seemed  a  part  of  every  shadow 
there.  Its  sightless  form  was  clothed  in  the 
fragrance  of  jasmine,  its  soundless  voice  was  wail- 
ing with  the  night's  fearful  silences.  He  shut  the 
atelier  door  against  the  spectre  and  flung  him- 
self into  the  barber  chair.  All  his  bravery  de- 
serted him,  and  he  drained  deep  the  crippling  cup 
of  despondency. 

Presently  he  felt  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 
Looking  up,  he  met  the  sympathetic,  inquiring 
glance  of  Osbourne. 

"She — has  been  here  and — gone !"  Jallot  spoke 
in  a  monotone  of  infinite  misery. 

"Antoinette?" 

"Yes  !'v 

"She  knows  that  you — bought  her?" 

The  barber  gave  an  affirmative  nod.  "She  has 
her  freedom — she  does  not  care  for  me — she  has 
gone.  It — is — the — end." 

"That  does  not  sound  like  you,  Jallot!" 

309 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

"What  more  can  you  expect  of  me?" — this  list- 
lessly. 

"Only  that  you  should  live  up  to  your  code." 

"My  code  ?     I  have  none !" 

"How  poorly  you  know  yourself."  Again  Os- 
bourne  laid  his  hand  on  the  barber's  shoulder.  "I 
have  seen  you  in  many  critical  moments — times 
when  other  men  would  have  yielded,  overcome 
with  the  great  obstacles  confronting  them;  but 
that  could  never  have  been  said  of  you  till  now. 
Always — unconsciously  perhaps — you  have  said, 
'What  must  be  done — can  be  done !'  And  that 
simple  phrase — your  brave  code — has  been  a  law 
ruling  your  inclination  and  shining  through  your 
whole  life.  It  has  been  your  call  to  arms,  your 
battle-cry,  mustering  your  courage  to  wrest  suc- 
cess from  defeat.  Because  you  have  failed  to- 
night, do  not  think  it  is  the  end.  What  is  more, 
you  have  no  right  to  pause  until  you  have  proved 
Antoinette  white!  God,  man,  look  up!  I  give 
you  back  your  own  code,  'What  must  be  done — 
can  be  done  !' ' 

Jallot  responded  to  this  impassioned  plea.  He 
sprang  up  and  gripped  Osbourne's  hand. 
"Thanks,  thanks  for  your  words,  old  friend.  I 
did  not  know  that  I  had  a  code,  but  since  I  have — 
I  will  live  up  to  it." 

They  sat  clown  together  on  the  window  seat. 

"I  was  thinking  about  Antoinette  as  I  came 
here  to-night,"  resumed  Osbourne.  "She  is  about 

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THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

nineteen  now.  It  is  twelve  years  since  Delicado 
gave  her  in  trust  to  Froebel.  Twelve  from  nine- 
teen leaves  seven.  You  see  she  must  have  been 
very  young  when  she  first  fell  into  the  Spaniard's 
hands — perhaps  four  or  five." 

"Excellent  computation,  but  where  does  it  lead 
us?" 

"Somewhere  near  the  year  1790,  when  she  was 
five  years  old." 

"The  year  I  came  to  New  Orleans — " 

"A  refugee  from  France,"  supplemented  the 
American;  "and  yours  was  not  the  only  ship  laden 
with  fugitives  from  the  terror  of  the  Revolution. 
Many  of  them,  like  you,  were  sold  here  as  re- 
demptioners." 

Jallot  grasped  his  companion's  arm.  "Nom  de 
Dicu!  A  redemptioner !  .  .  .  Yes,  it  is  possible 
that  she  might  have  been  ..."  His  enthusiasm 
ebbed  as  he  added,  "But  she  was  a  slave." 

"There  have  been  cases  where  whites — taken  as 
redemptioners  when  young — have,  through  their 
ignorance  and  the  villainy  of  their  masters,  been 
held  as  slaves  and  called  octoroons." 

"del!"  cried  Jallot,  excitedly. 

"Take  that  as  your  clue  and  work  from  it." 

"Delicado  called  her  Margot,"  mused  the  bar- 
ber. Then  he  breathlessly  supplemented,  "Mar- 
got  is  the  contraction  for  Marguerite!  Why  did 
I  not  think  of  that  before !"  He  was  on  his  feet. 
"I  have  a  clue ! .  .  .  No,  no !  It  is  too  wild  a  hope ! 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

.  .  .  Yet  stranger  things  ..."  He  paced  the  floor 
in  nervous  abstraction.  "What  o'clock  is  it?" 

"About  nine,"  answered  Osbourne,  looking  at 
his  watch. 

"Only  nine!  I  have  an  engagement  with  Deli- 
cado  at  ten.  Ma  foi!  What  an  idiot  I  am.  He 
may  have  taken  alarm."  Jallot's  thought  was 
that  the  conspirators,  escaping  the  mob,  must  cer- 
tainly seek  out  the  Spaniard  and  impart  to  him 
the  manner  in  which  their  plot  had  been  betrayed. 
The  barber  communicated  his  fears  to  Osbourne, 
and  told  him  of  the  night's  adventure. 

"You  can  rest  easy  on  that  score,"  laughed  the 
American,  and  went  on  to  relate  how  he  had 
effected  the  capture  of  Gazonac  and  his  compan- 
ions at  the  Place  d'  Armes. 

"Admirable,  Monsieur  Sheriff,"  approved  the 
other.  "We  have  finished  off  the  conspiracy,  and 
perhaps  Delicado  does  not  know  that  his  com- 
patriots have  been  arrested.  I'll  try  his  house  at 
ten.  If  he  is  not  there,  we  must  find  him  wher- 
ever he  is  to-night.  He  must  be  made  to  speak." 
Jallot  paused  a  moment  in  thought.  "I  should 
have  some  records.  Wait!  I'll  look  for  them." 
He  went  into  his  cabinet. 

During  his  absence,  Ottilie  and  her  maid  came 
to  the  atelier,  and  Poupet,  who  admitted  them, 
almost  swooned  with  joy  when  he  saw  Tonton 
wearing  a  red  rose  in  her  hair.  He  signalled  the 
girl  away  into  the  garden,  leaving  her  mistress  to 

312 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

the  sheriff's  care. 

"Monsieur  Osbourne,"  exclaimed  Ottilie,  with 
agitation,  "I  did  not  think  to  find  you  here.  I 
have  stolen  out  of  the  house  at  great  peril.  I  have 
just  heard  that  Monsieur  Jallot  has — bought  An- 
toinette. I  could  not  wait — I  came  to  learn — 
the  truth  from  him.  Oh,  it  is  terrible !" 

"It  might  be  much  worse,  Mademoiselle.  Jal- 
lot has  saved  her  from  even  greater  ignominy." 

"Where  is  he?" 

"He  will  be  here  presently." 

"What — what  is  he  going  to  do?" 

"He  has  set  her  free." 

Ottilie  dropped  into  a  chair  with  a  sigh  of  re- 
lief. "I  might  have  known  that  Monsieur  Jallot 
would  act  nobly.  Poor  Antoinette!" 

Osbourne  gazed  with  open  admiration  upon  the 
lovely  face  of  the  Creole  girl.  Presently  he 
spoke.  "I  called  at  your  house  early  this  even- 
ing, Mademoiselle.  You  were  not  at  home.  Just 
now  I  was  thinking  of  you — I  meant  to  reply  to 
your  note  in  person." 

"It  required  no  answer,"  she  returned.  "It  was 
merely  to  warn  you." 

"Was  that  all  it  meant?" 

"Oh,  you  read  something  else  into  it?" 

He  became  confused.  "I — I  confess  I  should 
never  have  thought  of  it — only  Jallot — " 

"Pointed  it  out  to  you?" 

"Precisely!" 

313 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

"And  what  was  your  discovery?"  There 
was  a  faint  note  of  resentment  in  her  voice  which 
Osbourne  failed  to  detect. 

"He — he  may  have  invented  it — simply  to  en- 
courage me." 

"Oh,  you  were — eh — discouraged?" 

"I  was  not  hopeful,  Mademoiselle." 

"And  now—?" 

"I  scarcely  know  what  to  think,"  he  ventured. 

Ottilie  sprang  up  angrily.  "I  will  tell  you  then 
what  I  think !  It  was  horrid  of  you  to  show  him 
my  note." 

The  American  went  on  to  incriminate  himself. 
"But  there  was  nothing  in  it  that — " 

"Monsieur  Jallot  found  something!  What  was 
it?"  Her  question  was  a  trap. 

Osbourne  stepped  into  it.  "Eh — er — only 
that  he  thought  it  meant  that — eh — you — perhaps 
— cared  for  me." 

The  Creole  girl  laughed  derisively  at  this.  "So 
you  and  Monsieur  Jallot  have  settled  it  between 
you  that  I  care  for  you!  How  droll!" 

Jallot,  opening  the  cabinet  door,  heard  this  re- 
mark and  paused  on  the  threshold,  as  Osbourne, 
overwhelmed  with  chagrin,  rejoined,  "Oh,  laugh 
at  me.  I  am  stupid.  I  was  a  fool  to  think  that 
he  might  be  right.  Well,  I  shall  not  annoy  you 
again,  Mademoiselle."  He  turned  away,  while 
she  shrugged  her  shoulders  indifferently. 

The  barber,  affecting  great  haste  and  import- 

314 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

ance,  stepped  into  the  atelier  and  addressed  the 
sheriff.  "Monsieur,  you  have  but  a  moment  to 
decide.  If  you  accept  the  governor's  commission 
you  must  sail  for  France  to-night — " 

Osbourne  stared  at  the  speaker  stupidly,  and 
Ottilie  wheeled  about  with  sudden  interest  and 
concern. 

"It  is  unexpected,  I  know,"  continued  Jallot 
rapidly;  "but  new  developments  have  hastened  the 
ship's  departure.  The  Governor's  messenger  is 
waiting — " 

"But  I—" 

The  barber  cut  him  off,  appealing  to  the  girl. 
"Mademoiselle,  urge  him  to  accept  this  splendid 
offer  to  leave  Louisiana  forever." 

Ottilie  colored,  stammering,  "I — I  will  not !" 
She  was  prettily  emphatic. 

"What  does—?" 

Again  Jallot  forestalled  Osbourne's  question. 
"Monsieur,  do  not  let  this  great  opportunity  es- 
cape you." 

"You  must  not  listen  to  him,"  protested  the 
Creole  girl  timorously. 

"But — "  interjected  the  American  in  confusion. 

"No  buts — it  is  your  duty  to  accept  the  com- 
mission," insisted  Jallot. 

Ottilie  was  now  thoroughly  alarmed.  "What 
do  I  care  for  his  duty,"  she  cried. 

"I— I— do— " 

The  barber  snapped  his  friend  up  again.     "Of 

315 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

course  you  do — you're  a  man;  you  will  not  per- 
mit a  woman  to  weaken  your  purpose." 

"He  will  stay  if  I  ask  him !"  Ottilie  defied  one 
man  and  appealed  to  the  other,  who,  marveling 
at  this  manifestation  of  her  regard  for  him,  kept 
silent. 

Jallot  taunted  her.  "So  you  think,  Made- 
moiselle, that  your  love  for  him  will  outweigh  his 
sense  of  duty?" 

Ottilie  hesitated  but  a  moment,  and  then  de- 
clared courageously,  "I — I  dol"  She  put  her 
arm  through  Osbourne's  with  an  enchanting  air 
of  confidence,  while  he,  in  happy  bewilderment, 
drew  her  closer  to  him. 

"Then,  that  is  final,"  announced  the  barber.  "I 
will  send  the  messenger  back."  He  turned  away 
from  them  and  addressed  space  as  though  a  page 
stood  waiting  at  the  door:  "Monsieur,  report  to 
the  governor  that  the  sheriff  of  Louisiana  declines 
with  thanks  the  commission,  owing  to  the  fact 
that  Mademoiselle  Trudeati  has  confessed  that  she 
loves  him." 

It  was  an  instant  before  the  lovers  fully  realized 
how  they  had  been  duped.  Ottilie  was  the  first  to 
speak.  "What?"  she  ejaculated,  dropping  her 
head  in  confusion.  "A  hoax!" 

Jallot  bowed.  "Which  was  successful,  thanks 
to  Monsieur's  dear  stupidity  and  Mademoiselle's 
dearer  affection.  Bless  me,  my  children,  for 
showing  you  the  swift  route  to  happiness." 

316 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

"I  do,  Jallot,"  beamed  the  American. 

"I  shall  never  forgive  you,"  gasped  the  girl,  and 
added,  smilingly,  "Monsieur,  you  are  the  most 
superb  liar  that  I  have  ever  known." 

"But  the  Recording  Angel  has  a  way  of  stop- 
ping her  ears  when  we  lie  in  the  service  of  love, 
Mademoiselle."  The  barber  laid  a  hand  over  his 
heart  and  bowed  again. 

Ottilie  touched  his  shoulder  with  her  finger- 
tips. "You  have  served  love  nobly;  see  that  you 
serve  Antoinette  as  well.  Oh,  do  not  stop  at  set- 
ting her  free!" 

"I  shall  stop  at  nothing  until  I  prove  her  to  be 
as  white  as  you  are,  Mademoiselle." 

Something  in  the  tone  of  Jallot's  voice  made 
her  feel  that  he  could  not  fail.  She  smiled  her 
confidence,  and,  at  the  same  time,  tears  came  into 
her  eyes  unbidden,  thinking  of  the  happiness  he 
had  found  for  her. 

The  girl's  thought  seemed  to  be  communicated 
to  Osbourne.  "I  owe  you  my  happiness!"  he  said 
to  Jallot. 

"See  that  you  deserve  it,"  responded  the  bar- 
ber. "Go  now,  and  when  you  have  seen  Made- 
moiselle to  her  house,  be  good  enough  to  return 
here,  for  I  shall  have  need  of  you  to-night."  He 
showed  them  out  through  the  garden,  and  then, 
turning  back  to  the  atelier,  encountered  Poupet 
with  Tonton  tucked  under  his  arm. 

"Michie/'   grinned   the   quadroon,   very   much 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

embarrassed.  "Ah — Ah  jus'  get  betroth'  t'  dese 
lady." 

"There  must  be  contagion  in  the  night,"  com- 
mented Jallot,  half  in  jest  and  half  in  bitterness. 

Tonton,  perfectly-  self-possessed,  made  this  ex- 
planation :  "Poupet  get  de  shop,  so  Ah  got  t'  take 
care  him  now." 

"Yo*  link  Ah  make  preddy  good  prattycable 
match,  hein,  Michie?"  Poupet  stood  first  on  one 
foot  and  then  on  the  other,  awaiting  his  patron's 
approbation. 

"You  have  fallen  into  capable  hands,"  smiled 
Jallot.  "I  congratulate  you  both.  Return  him 
to  me  in  a  half  hour,  Tonton.  Bonsoir,  mes  en- 
fants!" 

Dismissing  them,  he  looked  at  his  watch.  Its 
hands  pointed  to  half-past  nine.  He  went  into  the 
atelier  for  his  hat  and  cane,  with  the  intention  of 
setting  out  in  a  few  minutes  to  keep  his  ren- 
dezvous with  Delicado. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

THEY  AND  THE  NIGHT 

Meanwhile  Delicado,  ignorant  of  the  arrest  of 
his  fellow  conspirators,  was  returning  leisurely 
from  the  Tivoli,  where  he  had  dined  tete-a-tete 
with  the  Marquis  Casa  Calvo.  As  he  turned  into 
the  Rue  Toulouse  he  was  much  amazed  to  hear 
boisterous  sounds  of  revelry  emanating  from  his 
own  house.  But  he  was  more  astonished,  in  fact 
he  was  frightened,  when  he  pushed  open  the  door 
of  his  salon  and  saw  a  rioting  band  of  shopkeep- 
ers and  slave  dealers,  foreign  habitues  of  the  low 
cabarets  and  the  riff-raff  of  the  river  front — all 
making  free  with  his  wines  and  brawling  across 
his  damask  table  cloth. 

He  had  no  time  to  consider  what  should  be 
done.  That  was  decided  for  him  by  the  tailor, 
who,  catching  sight  of  the  Spaniard  at  the  door, 
called  out,  "There's  the  traitor,"  and  flung  a  de- 
canter at  him.  This  was  the  brief  prologue  to  a 
satanic  roar,  which  went  up  from  the  rabble  as 
they  overturned  chairs  and  table  in  their  eager- 
ness to  seize  Delicado.  He  fled  and  they  followed 
vociferously. 

319 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

At  a  furious  rate  he  led  them  out  of  the  Rue 
Toulouse  to  the  Rue  Bourbon.  Then  he  doubled 
back,  by  way  of  the  Rue  St.  Pierre,  to  the  levee, 
nimbly  footing  it  along  the  embankment  and 
dodging  into  the  Rue  de  1'Arsenal.  He  was 
surprised  there  by  a  few  of  the  more  adventurous 
spirits,  who  had  taken  a  short  cut  through  the  Rue 
Chartres  to  intercept  his  flight. 

Desperately  Delicado  hurtled  through  their  op- 
posing ranks,  battering  his  way  with  cane  and  fist, 
just  in  time  to  escape  the  greater  throng  that 
came  whooping  from  the  quay.  Hard  pressed,  he 
spurted  away;  but  the  exertion  taxed  his  wind, 
and  he  found  himself  fagged,  while  the  pursuit, 
still  agile,  tracked  him  relentlessly.  He  knew 
then  that  he  must  fall  into  their  hands  unless  some 
fortuitous  means  of  escape  presented  itself.  Ac- 
cordingly he  began  looking  for  some  place  where 
he  might  hide  until  the  mob  should  rush  by.  As 
he  stumbled  around  the  corner  of  the  Rue  St. 
Philippe  and  the  Rue  Chartres,  he  noted  a  high 
wall,  over  which  hung  a  jasmine  vine  within  easy 
reach.  He  looked  behind  him.  There  was  no 
one  in  view,  but  he  could  hear^  his  pursuers  hal- 
looing down  the  Rue  St.  Philippe. 

Hesitating  only  for  an  instant,  he  clutched  the 
vine  and  swung  himself,  with  painful  effort,  to  the 
top  of  the  wall.  From  that  high  perch  he  peered 
into  an  old  garden,  apparently  deserted.  Panting 
and  all  unnerved,  he  dropped  heavily  upon  a 

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THEY  AND  THE  NIGHT 

flower  bed;  and  as  he  stood  listening  to  the  sounds 
of  the  chase,  he  felt  himself  caught  from  behind. 
Strong  hands  closed  about  his  neck  and  threw  him 
roughly  against  a  sundial. 

Just  then  the  clouds,  which  had  cast  a  deep 
shadow  over  the  garden,  cleared  the  face  of  the 
moon  and  her  beams  fell  upon  the  features  of  the 
man  who  was  throttling  him. 

"Jallot !"  gasped  Delicado,  recognizing  the  bar- 
ber in  whose  garden  he  had  sought  refuge. 

"Yes,  Jallot !  and  without  comes  the  pack !  How 
does  it  feel  to  be  hunted  ?" 

"Extremely  disagreeable,"  confessed  the  Span- 
iard, laughing  silently.  He  did  not  know  any 
reason  why  he  should  fear  his  captor.  "Kindly 
give  me  leave  to  breathe,  Sefior." 

"That  is  more  than  they  will  do — when  I  give 
you  up  to  them." 

Delicado's  feelings  were  divided  between  sur- 
prise and  alarm,  but  he  put  on  an  easy  disposition, 
saying:  "Senor,  you  will  not  do  that?" 

"Such  is  my  purpose — unless  you  can  tell  me 
the  truth."  The  barber  gripped  the  other's  throat 
more  tightly  by  way  of  being  emphatic. 

"The  truth  is  readily  told,"  panted  the  Castilian 
with  all  the  nonchalance  he  could  assume.  "I 
promise  you  that,  or  anything  you  wish,  Senor,  if 
you  will  not  betray  me." 

"Anything  will   not   answer.       I   want   facts — 

321 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

about  Antoinette  Froebel — the  girl  you  called 
Margot — held  as  a  slave." 

It  sounded  to  them  as  though  the  mob  were 
drawing  nearer. 

Delicado,  in  spite  of  himself,  trembled  a  trifle 
as  he  exclaimed :  "Yes,  there  is  no  doubt — she 
was  a  slave." 

"Is  she  white?"  demanded  Jallot.  His  captive 
demurred.  "Speak!  Is  she  white?" 

A  fraction  of  a  minute  more  and  Delicado  would 
probably  never  have  spoken  again,  for  those 
flexible  ringers  of  the  barber  pressed,  like  a  tight- 
ening noose,  about  his  throat.  He  thought  of 
nothing  then  but  to  save  himself.  "Y-e-s,"  he 
gasped,  "she  is  white." 

"Ah'!"  It  was  an  exclamation  of  triumph.  "How 
did  you  come  by  her? — quickly!" 

"She  was  a  redemptioner — my  agent  bought 
her." 

"When?" 

"I — I  cannot  remember — " 

"You  must—" 

The  whooping  of  the  mob  became  more  dis- 
tinct. The  Spaniard  replied  in  a  whisper :  "About 
fifteen  years  ago." 

"Where?" 

"Here — in  New  Orleans — there  was  a  great 
shipload  of  them — " 

"The  name  of  the  ship?"  Jallot  spoke  sharply, 
still  keeping  a  firm  hold  upon  the  Spaniard's 

322 


THEY  AND  THE  NIGHT 

throat. 

"I— I  do  not  recall  it." 

"Was  it  'The  Seagull'?"  The  barber  was  test- 
ing his  veracity. 

"No!" 

"The  Golden  Hope'?" 

"Yes,  yes,  Senor — that  was  the  name." 

""Marguerite!"  ejaculated  Jallot  with  emotion; 
and  added,  "You  must  write  that  down." 

"I  dare  not — it  would  mean  life  imprisonment 
for  me." 

"It  will  mean  instant  death  for  you  if  you  do 
not,"  threatened  the  barber. 

The  cries  of  the  mob  burst  out  with  renewed 
vehemence.  The  chase  was  rounding  into  the 
Rue  Chartres.  Then  it  was  that  the  Spaniard  shud- 
dered and  plainly  uncovered  the  craven,  which  he 
had  kept  hidden  under  a  debonair  manner. 

"There  they  go,"  whispered  Jallot.  "A  word 
from  me  and  you  will  be  torn  to  pieces." 

Delicado  hastened  to  give  his  trembling  assent. 
The  barber  pushed  him  into  the  atelier,  and  thrust 
a  pen  in  his  hand. 

"What  shall  I  write?"  The  man  was  completely 
cowed. 

"This,"  and  Jallot  began  to  dictate:  "I,  Luiz 
Delicado,  do  solemnly  swear  that  the  woman, 
known  as  Antoinette  Froebel,  is  white;  that  I  pur- 
chased her  as  a  redemptioner  from  the  ship,  The 

323 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

Golden  Hope,'  in  1790,  and  thereafter  unlawfully 
held  her  as  a  slave  under  the  name  of  Margot, 
until  1793,  when  I  placed  her  in  trust  with  Lud- 
wig  Froebel;  that  she  is  the  person  I  claimed  from 
him  on  the  seventeenth  of  June  and  sold  at  auction 
on  that  date  to  Victor  Jallot ....  Have  you  set 
that  down?" 

"Yes!" 

"Sign  it!" 

Poupet  came  into  the  atelier.  Without  turning 
his  eyes  from  the  Spaniard,  Jallot  asked :  "Is  that 
you,  Poupet?" 

"Yes,  Michie!" 

"Witness  this  document." 

Delicado  handed  the  paper  to  the  barber,  who 
looked  at  it  and  laid  it  on  the  table. 

The  rabble  had  swept  by,  but  still  the  men  in 
the  quiet  shop  heard  the  hue  and  cry,  vaunting 
through  the  distant  streets. 

As  Poupet  sat  down  to  witness  the  confes- 
sion, Delicado  sprang  suddenly  to  the  sword 
rack,  and,  seizing  a  rapier,  turned  viciously 
upon  Jallot,  who  threw  out  a  hand  in  defense, 
receiving  a  wound  in  the  forearm.  Poupet 
cried  out  in  alarm  and  the  barber,  dodging  about 
the  table,  avoided  another  thrust  and  armed  him- 
self with  a  foil.  Tearing  off  the  button,  he  met 
the  attack  of  the  Spaniard,  who  soon  proved  him- 
self an  admirable  swordsman.  They  fought 

324 


THEY  AND  THE  NIGHT 

furiously  but  quietly,  while  the  quadroon  looked 
on  in  fearful  fascination. 

At  last  Jallot  pressed  Delicado  into  a  corner, 
where  the  Castilian  made  a  desperate  lunge, 
crying:  "I  shall  serve  you  out  with  the  thrust  of 
Planton!" 

"Take  the  thrust  of  Jallot,"  countered  the  bar- 
ber, disarming  his  adversary  and  pinning  him 
against  the  wall. 

As  he  held  Delicado  there,  Osbourne  opened 
the  door  and  seeing  him,  Poupet  shouted :  "Help, 
Michie!" 

In  a  moment  the  sheriff  had  securely  bound  the 
Spaniard's  hands.  "Now,"  said  he  to  the  con- 
spirator, "we  have  some  questions  to  put  to  you." 

"You  need  not  bother,"  smiled  Jallot,  "I  al- 
ready have  what  I  want  of  the  gentleman.  Take 
him  away  with  you  to  join  his  compatriots."  Then 
he  turned  to  Poupet.  "Have  you  witnessed  the 
document  ?" 

"No,  Michie!" 

"Do  so  at  once  and  go  with  Monsieur  Osbourne 
— he'll  need  you."  Jallot  took  the  paper  from 
his  assistant  and  addressed  the  American.  "You 
had  best  go  through  the  garden." 

On  their  way  out,  Delicado  jeeringly  remarked 
to  the  barber:  "If  I  ever  have  leisure,  Senor,  I 
shall  ask  you  to  teach  me  the  thrust  of  Jallot." 

"And  I  shall  be  glad  to  oblige  you — when  you 
have  the  leisure." 

325 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

Jallot  closed  the  garden  door  after  the  Spaniard 
and  his  escort,  and,  with  a  sigh,  leaned  wearily 
against  it,  his  hand  to  his  arm.  "That  sword 
struck  deeper  than  I  thought,"  he  murmured, 
charging  his  low  spirits  to  his  wound;  but  the 
truth  was  that  the  intelligence  he  had  gamed  of 
Delicado  gave  him  greater  pain. 

He  had  no  doubt  now  that  Antoinette  was  the 
Princess  Marguerite  and  his  first  feeling  of  hap- 
piness and  triumph  for  her,  gave  way  to  despon- 
dency for  himself,  believing  that  he  must  set  the 
girl  up  so  high  that  she  would  be  far  beyond  his 
reach. 

"Ah,  Fate,  you  cheater,  you  mocker,"  he  apos- 
trophized the  night.  "You  led  me  to  the  bright 
threshold  of  that  house  I  builded  in  my  dreams, 
bade  me  look  within  upon  the  face  of  her  who 
might  have  kept  that  hearth  for  me;  and  now  you 
say  I  can  not  enter  there !...."  A  step  or  two 
took  him  to  the  sun  dial.  Again  his  thoughts 
shaped  themselves  into  words:  "Antoinette,  my 
little  white  princess,  hear  me! — you,  who  once 
came  skipping  to  my  arms  with  pretty  laughter — 
you,  who  had  no  pillow  but  my  shoulder — hear 
me ! . .  . .  Oh,  best  beloved,  my  soul  cries  vainly 
through  the  dark  to  you ! . .  . .  Antoinette,  Ludwig, 
Jerome,  Ottilie  and  Osbourne,  and  even  Tonton 
and  Poupet — I  shall  have  set  all  your  hearts  a- 
singing;  your  happiness  shall  be  of  my  making! 
Yet  I,  who  have  done  for  all,  must  fail  in  doing 

326 


THEY  AND  THE  NIGHT 

for  myself !  .  .  .  What  folly  to  have  ever  hoped ! .  .  . 
Well,  Jallot,  the  woman  has  come  and  the  woman 
has  gone.  ...  I  thought  to  master  Fate — what 
vanity!  ....  Montaigne  is  right,  we  do  not  go — 
we  are  driven  by  the  current  like  things  that 
float.  .  .  .  Where?  ....  Shall  I  become  a  crusty  old 
bachelor,  a  musty  scribbler,  growing  mean  and 
warped,  losing  the  vision  of  my  heart?  .  .  .  No, 
no,  Jallot!  You  have  looked  into  love's  dear  face, 
you  have  felt  the  tender  touch  of  love's  hands, 
you  have  breathed  the  sweet  incense  of  love's 
presence.  .  . .  You  have  known  the  great  unknown 
— the  secret  spring  of  life !" 

He  sank  down  on  the  bench  beneath  the  roses, 
half  fainting.  Presently  he  drew  a  packet,  yellow 
with  age,  from  his  shirt  and  looked  at  it,  thinking 
of  the  woman  who  had  placed  it  in  his  hands 
as  she  lay  dying  in  the  cabin  of  "The  Golden 
Hope."  He  broke  the  seal  and  discovered  a  bit 
of  parchment  and  a  small  case  of  mouldy  leather. 

"This  should  be  a  miniature  of  Antoinette's 
mother,"  he  mused,  opening  the  case  and  holding 
it  so  that  the  light,  shining  from  the  atelier  win- 
dow, fell  upon  the  picture.  "Dieu!"  he  exclaimed, 
awed  and  amazed.  "Antoinette !  Antoinette !  Her 
eyes,  her  hair,  even  the  dear  curl  of  her  lips.  .  .  . 
and  all  the  while  I  held  this  proof — forgotten !" 

He  gazed  at  it  long  and  lovingly.  At  last  he 
laid  it  down  beside  him  and  examined  the  docu- 
ment. "My  mother's  hand — her  mother's  words !" 

327 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

His  wound,  bleeding  unstaunched,  had  weakened 
him.  "Faded?"  he  muttered,  faintly,  "or — can — 
I —  no —  longer  —  see  ?  The —  ship —  Golden  — 
Hope  .  .  .  Marguerite  .  .  .  Princess  .  .  .  .  "  The 
words  shaded  off  brokenly.  With  a  moan  he  sank 
back  upon  the  bench. 

Then  he  seemed  to  hear  a  distant  sound  of 
knocking  and  made  an  effort  to  rouse  himself,  only 
to  fall  into  a  swoon. 

That  summons  was  at  the  court  door  of  the 
atelier.  There  stood  Antoinette  alone,  waiting  the 
answer.  When  she  had  forced  herself  to  flee  the 
garden  that  night  under  the  compelling  spirit  of 
self-sacrifice,  she  had  hastened  to  the  little  house 
in  the  Rue  Bienville  whither  old  Froebel's  misfor- 
tunes had  carried  her.  The  passion  of  martyrdom 
sustained  for  the  time  her  determination  never 
to  see  Jallot  again;  but  finding  her  foster-father  so 
far  recovered  from  his  hurts  as  no  longer  to  re- 
quire her  presence  at  his  side,  she  returned  to  the 
lonely  seclusion  of  her  boudoir  and  there  her  un- 
bidden thoughts  leaped  back  to  the  garden.  Again 
the  barber  pleaded  his  cause,  his  eloquent  hands 
held  out  to  her  beseechingly,  his  vibrant  voice 
ringing  persuasively  in  her  ears. 

Perhaps  in  some  clairvoyant  fashion  she  did 
hear  him  crying  out  to  her  through  the  dark. 
Certainly  her  mind's  eyes  comprehended  with 
vividness  his  agony.  This  visualizing  of  his  distress 
began  a  subtle  undermining  of  her  purpose,  until 

328 


THEY  AND  THE  NIGHT 

pity  for  the  man  added  its  potent  plea,  entreating 
her  mercy  for  the  heart  that  she  had  exiled  from 
companionship  with  hers.  She  presently  felt  a 
great  longing  to  go  to  him,  and  she  fluctuated  be- 
tween the  old  determination  to  remain  a  stranger 
to  him,  and  the  new  desire  to  seek  him  out  again. 
The  white  cross  of  self-sacrifice,  which  she  had 
born  at  first  with  fortitude,  now  grew  heavy  to  her 
back.  At  last  its  weight  became  intolerable.  She 
flung  it  off  with  no  thought  of  consequence,  and 
as  in  a  dream,  found  herself  in  the  street  shudder- 
ing at  the  night's  thick  shadows. 

Utterly  without  thought,  pushed  on  only  by  the 
impulses  of  fear,  desire,  hope — impelled  by  a  sense 
which  obliterated  all  other  ideas  from  her  mind, 
taking  flight  by  an  instinct,  like  the  carrier  dove 
— she  sped  through  the  darkened  way,  nor  stopped 
until  she  reached  the  door  of  the  atelier. 

She  knocked  and  knocked  again  and  called,  but 
roused  no  answer.  Still  she  felt  that  some  one 
was  within  since  she  saw,  leaking  through  the 
chinks  of  fastened  door  and  shutters,  the  rays  of  a 
candle's  light.  Distraught,  she  remembered  the 
garden  entrance,  and  hurrying  there,  found  to  her 
great  joy  that  its  gate  yielded  to  the  pressure  of 
her  hand.  She  paused  for  breath,  awed  by  the 
silence  of  the  place,  which  seemed  to  her  full  of 
mystery  and  enchantment  under  the  spectral  sheen 
of  the  moon. 

There  it  was — only  half  an  hour  before — that 

329 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

she  had  renounced  love  and  shouldered  the  cross 
of  abnegation  with  a  sad  sort  of  valor.  Now  she 
had  returned  and  why?  The  question  made  her 
pause  once  more.  What  did  she  mean?  What 
puff  of  vacillation  had  blown  her  fragile  bark  into 
this  self-proscribed  haven?  What  breath  of  in- 
stability now  inclined  her  to  veer  away  again?  A 
panic  seized  her  and  she  must  have  fled,  but  that 
a  sigh  fell  quivering  upon  her  ears. 

It  was  as  startling  to  her  as  would  have  been  a 
moan  in  a  silent  church.  She  advanced  a  trepid 
step  and  saw,  where  the  studio  light  fell  aslant  a 
sculptured  seat,  the  form  of  Jallot  half  reclining 
as  in  sleep.  She  stared  timorously  at  his  pale 
countenance  and  then  cried  out  in  dread,  seeing  a 
crimson  stain  upon  his  sleeve. 

"Oh,  Monsieur,"  quavered  the  girl,  sinking  on 
her  knees  beside  the  silent  figure.  "There  is  blood 
upon  your  hands!. . . .  Are  you  dead?". .  . .  Then 
as  he  kept  still,  she  moaned:  "Oh,  if  you  are, 
you  shall  be  buried  in  my  heart."  She  laid  her 
hand  on  his  wrist.  He  did  not  move  at  her  gentle 
touch.  "Ah," — this  with  relief — "your  pulse  flut- 
ters ....  but  suppose  you  should  die  and  never 
know  that  I  really  love  you ....  die,  believing  my 
horrid  lie  and  with  your  heart's  wounds  un- 
healed ! . .  . .  Oh,  dearest,  nothing  matters  but  love 
and  I  bring  you  mine. ...  I  will  be  your  slave. 
I  do  not  want  my  freedom !" 

Antoinette  took  the  paper  from  her  breast,  tore 

330 


THEY  AND  THE  NIGHT 

it  across  and  threw  it  away.  "I  am  your  slave 
now!  .  .  .  Come  back  to  me!  .  .  .  Oh,  wake,  Vic- 
tor ! .  .  . .  Once  you  said  that  my  voice  was  full  of 
magic.  I  have  lost  that  magic  or  else  you  would 
hear  me  now ! . .  . .  Wake,  dearest,  and  forgive 
me!  ...  It  is  Antoinette  who  calls!  ...  If  your 
dear  name  were  even  whispered  in  my  dead  ear 
it  would  summon  my  soul  back  from  paradise!" 

Jallot  sighed  again. 

"You  live!  You  live!"  The  girl's  joy  was 
tempered  with  fear,  because  she  now  doubted 
afresh  that  she  could  bring  him  back  to  her.  She 
sprang  up,  calling,  "Poupet !  Poupet !"  The  reply 
was  only  the  echo  of  her  voice. 

"What  am  I  to  do?"  she  despaired,  wringing 
her  hands.  Her  uncertainty  vanished  as  she  looked 
about  and  saw  the  fountain.  She  darted  to  it, 
wet  her  handkerchief,  and  bathed  Jallot's  fore- 
head; then,  tearing  his  sleeve,  bound  up  the 
wounded  arm,  all  the  while  speaking  pleadingly 
to  him  in  the  tenderest  of  accents.  "You  are 
coming  back  to  me !  Yes !  yes !  yes.  Please  wake 
and  forgive  me !  I  love  you.  Do  you  hear  that, 
or  is  your  soul  so  far  astray  that  even  words  of 
loving  cannot  find  it?. ...  I  will  not  believe  that! 
. .  .  .You  have  heard  and  are  returning  as  swiftly 
as  your  weary,  wounded  soul  can  journey .... 
Hasten,  dearest ....  I  love  you ! .  .  . .  You  have 
not  ceased  to  love  me  ? . .  . .  I  am  shut  out  by  all 
the  world,  but  your  heart  is  still  open  to  me. . . . 

331 


That  is  what  I  am  waiting  for  you  to  tell  me.  .  .  . 
I  want  you  to  say — a  thousand  times — that  you 
love  me  and  for  every  vow  of  yours  I  promise  in 
return  a  hundred  fold ....  Oh,  Victor,  I  love  you, 
I  love  you,  I  love  you." 

These  tender,  impassioned  words  seemed  to 
summon  his  spirit  from  that  strange  place  where 
it  had  strayed.  His  lips  moved.  "An-toi-nette  !" 
His  voice  sounding  faintly  as  from  afar  off. 

The  girl  clasped  her  hands  in  ecstasy.  "Oh, 
you  are  coming  back,"  she  whispered.  "You  hear 
me  now?  It  is  I,  Antoinette!" 

Jallot  opened  his  eyes  and  murmured,  "An- 
toinette. .  .  .my  little  white  princess!" 

"Yes,  yes,  Antoinette !  I  have  come  back  to 
you;  you  have  come  back  to  me.  I  do  not  care 
for  that  law — take  me  away."  He  looked  at  her 
in  bewilderment.  "Don't  you  remember? — 
please!  I  am  your  slave!"  This,  with  a  little 
smile. 

"You  are  Princess  Marguerite  Yolande — " 

Antoinette  trembled,  fearing  that  his  mind  had 
lost  its  reckoning.  "Oh,  Victor,  return  from 
where  you  are !  I  am  not  a  princess !  I  am  only 
Antoinette,  your  slave!" 

He  roused  himself,  gasping:  "No,  no,  Made- 
moiselle  here! — here!"  He  touched  the 

parchment,  the  miniature.  "Look! — read! — you 
are  white ! — white !" 

"White?"    Antoinette   in   a   daze   studied   the 

332 


document  and  gazed  at  the  portrait  of  her  mother. 

"You  are  the  little  princess,  Marguerite!  See 
— that  miniature — your  mother — she  lives  again 
in  you,  lovelier  than  ever,  Mademoiselle." 

Antoinette  stared  at  parchment  and  picture, 
trying  to  comprehend  their  significance.  "A  prin- 
cess?. .  .  .  This  was  my  mother?" 

"Yes,  yes!  Can't  you  remember?"  Jallot 
wearily  entreated.  "Oh,  Mademoiselle,  look  upon 
that  dear  face!  Holds  it  no  memory  for  you?" 

"This  was  my  mother!"  For  a  moment  she 
pondered  and  then  suddenly  asked:  "A  great 
ship—?" 

"You  do  remember,"  he  encouraged. 

"It  seems  like  a  dream — so  vague — yet  I  think 
I  recall  one — whose  face — like  this — but  pale — " 

"Your  mother!  Can  you  remember  nothing 
else?" 

Antoinette  fixed  her  eyes  insensibly  upon  the 
distant  leagues  of  darkness,  searching  her  be- 
wildered soul.  At  last  she  ventured,  "Was  there 
a  boy — a  boy  who  used  to  bear  me  on  his  back?" 

"Yes,  Mademoiselle,"  he  returned  eagerly,  "It 
was  I." 

"You?"  she  cried,  looking  at  him  intently; 
"you— that  boy?" 

He  nodded.  "You  must  remember  how  we 
played  together.  How  you  used  to  sleep  in  my 
arms.  How  I  tried  to  father  you,  until  the  ship 
came  to  port  in  New  Orleans,  and  they  took  you 

333 


THE  CODE  OF  VICTOR  JALLOT 

away  from  me — sold  you!" 

"Oh,  oh,  that  I  do  remember,"  she  exclaimed, 
with  a  flutter  of  fear  in  her  eyes.  "The  Spaniard ! 
Dieu!  .  .  .  Yes,  yes!  .  .  .  He  was  cruel!  .  .  .  Beat 
me !  Oh,  I  remember  now.  ...  It  was  he  whom  I 
saw  at  the  Tivoli !  .  .  .  .  He  used  to  twist  my  arm 
until  I  fainted.  ...  I  must  have  had  some  vague 
recollection  of  him  then  ....  the  terror  he  in- 
spired. ..."  She  caught  Jallot's  hand,  in  a  fever 
of  alarm.  "But  you  will  not  let  him  take  me 
again  ?" 

The  barber  smiled  wistfully.  "You  are  beyond 
his  reach  now,  Mademoiselle,  as  you  are — beyond 
— mine." 

"No— no!" 

He  pointed  to  the  parchment,  saying:  "You 
are  Marguerite  Yolande  of  the  Guiches,  daughter 
of  Prince  Henri  Louis  de  Guiche — I  am  only  Vic- 
tor Jallot  Sainte-Marie;  and  even  the  son  of  a 
brave  soldier  may  not  raise  his  eyes  in  love  to  a 
princess  of  France." 

Antoinette's  face  became  suffused  with  a  glor- 
ious light.  She  reached  above  her  head  and, 
plucking  a  great  rose,  said,  with  fond  imperious- 
ness:  "I,  Marguerite  Yolande  de  Guiche,  daugh- 
ter of  Prince  Henri  Louis  de  Guiche — in  the  name 
of  my  sire  and  myself — bestow  upon  thee,  'Sieur 
Victor  Jallot  Sainte-Marie,  the  noblest  and  oldest 
order  the  world  has  ever  known — the  Order  of 
Love,  which  I  place  over  the  heart  that  I  have 

334 


"  I  BESTOW  ri'ox  THEE  THE  NOBLEST  AND  OLDEST  ORDEK 


THEY  AND  THE  NIGHT 

bruised  and  long  to  heal." 

With  noble  mien  and  gracious  gesture — thrill- 
ing to  Jallot — she  decorated  him  with  the  rose, 
after  the  manner  of  a  princess  rewarding  her 
knight;  while  the  barber,  awed  before  the  splendor 
of  her  countenance,  looked  on  breathlessly,  the 
wonder  of  love  filling  his  eyes. 

When  Antoinette  had  finished,  she  sank  down 
beside  Jallot,  her  hand  finding  his  in  the  shadow, 
her  cheek  touching  his  shoulder — they  and  the 
night  sharing  in  silence  the  vast  secret. 


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